What Connected Us All
by Pandora's Heart
Summary: Marauders Era fic. My original female character and her relationship with both Sirius Black and Severus Snape. Written pre DH release. AU. No fluffy Snape! Full summary inside. Romance  Humor  Tragedy. Reviews are greatly appreciated.
1. We Play Our Games

We Play Our Games

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. Mrs. Rowling does. All the characters are hers... Except for Farren. She is my own creation. And, _God_, how I do love her :D (Is that an arrogant thing to say? Ah, well. I almost feel as though Farren isn't even my creation. She came to me fully developed, and I had no further input on her character... She wouldn't let me.)

**Author's Note:** I'd been working on this for a while before I published it here. This is pre Deathly Hallows release, but I think you'll find some similarities to the Snape/Lily and Snape/Farren. This is for those of you who found (as I did) that Lily was a bit _too_ perfect and not twisted enough for their taste (and James is just simply not as attractive or dark as Sirius).

**We Play Our Games**

It is a night for ordinary things to happen. No, Farren thinks hazily, ordinary isn't even the word: lazy, tired, sleep-deprived things. Because that is exactly how she is feeling that night.

How could she have left all this homework for the last minute? She hates herself and her procrastination more than ever. This is why Farren Graham will always be an average student: because she simply cannot care enough.

No, that isn't true either. She cares deeply for things that hold any sort of meaning to her. Her books on becoming an Animagus, for instance. And her green journal. The view outside the common room window depicting the full moon. And truthfully, she probably could be an exemplary student if she wanted to be. But Potions ingredients do not satisfactorily interest her. Some call it laziness, Farren calls it priorities.

She will always be an average student because, at heart, she's a romantic (though many who know her would scoff at the idea). Schoolwork, so riddled with facts and dull certainties, leaves in Farren a feeling of dispassion— which could ultimately mean the death of her. She'll never be the one to set aside a reading book, or stop an interesting conversation to say, "Alright girly. Let's start with Arithmancy!"

She laughs quietly at the scenario. Never, _ever_ would that happen.

Farren is reminded suddenly of her grandmother, with the lightly wrinkled but still provocative smile, saying, "Never say never."

Exactly a year ago Farren saw her grandmother die on surgically white sheets. She remembers thinking how wrong the color white had been. It was so plain, so silent. Her grandmother had worn only shocking colors: whether that meant bright pink or morose purple depended upon the woman's mood that day.

Farren's train of thought quickly leaves the paper filled with directions for her Potions essay, to the place of her grandmother's grave. She'd been seventy-five and yet still so beautiful. But the beauty seemed to have mocked Farren that day and she wondered whether she was the only one who could still see it.

At that moment - there in the candle lit room with mountains of homework to be done - she wishes more than ever for someone to be beside her. Not her grandmother; not now that Farren has seen her dead and gone. What she wants is someone to understand that her grandmother had been a lovely woman, despite what some people might say. That she herself is a lovely woman. But no one will ever sit beside her. And that isn't because Farren doesn't have friends. Plenty of people flock to her, are fascinated by her. But, when it gets too late, they all leave, almost as though they are frightened of being left alone with her. And thus it will always be.

Farren puts her work down with a sigh. It is useless. She _knows_ it will not get done, so what is the point in pretending? She will fabricate an excuse to her professors. She will smile sweetly yet provocatively, like her grandmother would, and say that she'd forgotten. Her extremely curly blonde hair will bounce as she shares a laugh with said Professor. No matter what, she will be excused— a fact that is both a gift and a curse.

She looks round the Gryffindor common room. It gives Farren a sense of failure to be alone; especially whilst in a room such as this: meant to be full to the brim with people. But also because her imagination often knows no limits, and tends to create its own demons.

Farren is a seventh year at Hogwarts and by now understands this is a magical world where things that go bump in the night have explanations. But she still remembers the ghost stories her muggle family used to tell. And when sometimes her Uncle would frighten her to such ends that she'd cry, begging him to stop.

But at least the common room is brightly lit. At least it isn't dark.

These thoughts and memories make Farren's hands grow slightly more frantic as she stuffs papers strewn about into her schoolbag. Stories replay in her mind's eye: the girl who was murdered by the avenging ghost of a man she had denied; or the little girl eaten by a wolfish monster in the woods; the woman who had been pushed by an embodied force down the stairs. Her uncle had thumped across the room while telling that story. _Thump, thump, thump,_ had gone his shoes. _Thump, thump_—

What was that? A distant but distinct noise had sounded... Or had there been any noise at all? Her mind always _is_ quite over exuberant. No! There it is again, only closer this time.

She grabs her bag and winces at the sound of breaking glass. An ink bottle has fallen to the ground and is now seeping into the carpet. Perfect.

Just as Farren decides her fear is greater than her etiquette, a loud bang sounds and a scream erupts from her mouth.

"What in the hell?" says a startled male voice, followed by several interjections from others: "Who screamed?" "What's the hold up, Prongs?" "Bugger, is it McGonagall?"

James Potter is standing, bewildered, at the common room door. A boy with long, stylishly unkempt hair strides past him to see the commotion.

"Did you scream?" Sirius Black asks.

Farren nods dumbly, still panting.

"What are you on about, making all that noise?"

"M-me?" She stammers, then takes a breath to quickly regain her cool. "I'm not the one who came barging in here at 3 o'clock in the morning. What were you doing out so late anyway?"

Sirius grins like the child whose been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Well, sorry to have startled you." His friends slip past him, talking in voices about God-knows-what they've been up to. "Want help?"

Farren peers down at the boy's indication. She sees that, in her surprise, she'd dropped her bag and papers now littered the floor. "_Fuck_," she says with feeling.

Sirius takes this as confirmation, and crouches down to the foot of the desk. She follows him.

"There you go," he says after a few silent moments.

"Thanks... What _were _you doing? I'd hate to be a recipient of the latest Marauders prank." It is true. Farren has seen some of the things the boys deemed humorous, and remains quite eager to avoid them.

He chuckles. "You don't have to worry. We weren't pranking tonight. Just thought a bit of fresh air would be nice."

"I'm sure," she says, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Farren—unlike the rest of the female population—has never been quite so smitten with Sirius Black. Yes, she knows he is extraordinarily attractive. But so are a countless number of others. Not that she has a particular hatred for the boy. They've spoken on occasion, and he passively flirts with her from time to time. But Farren thinks him a little too arrogant for her taste. But maybe he's changed since last year. Perhaps a little hope remains for the male sex. _Yeah, and if you clap hard enough, Tinkerbell will live. _The male gender, she has learned, is a thoroughly boring one. The female type isn't all that much better either. Both leave a bit more to be desired for Farren.

Whatever happened to the subtlety, the sophistication and sexiness of a teasingly chaste press of lips against lips? These idiots have no idea what pleasure means, so bent are they on instant satisfaction.

Farren suddenly realizes it's been several minutes since someone has spoken. "I think I'll go up to bed now. Goodnight, Sirius."

His gray eyes lock onto hers with a suggestive smirk, but there is no real interest in them. He wants her to sigh, or melt, or go weak at the knees for him. It is merely a game he plays to get through the day. It is a lust for power, the desire to be irresistible (though she doubts Sirius has brains enough to realize this).

Farren only stares back, making the stare seem unimpressed. She has her games as well.

And, looking thoroughly confused by this reaction, Sirius says, "Yeah, sure. 'Night."

When Farren finally climbs into bed she feels a pressure lifted, as though ropes are being untied at her chest and stomach. This is what she loves. To be able to sleep, dream and be nothing. Or to perhaps even enter a strange and beautiful world that she alone can dictate. Dreams are wonderful things.

She reaches over to a small night light, sighing tiredly. Dreams are wonderful, but there will always be the part where you must wake up. And there will be the part where you must prepare yourself for sleep. You must brush your teeth; wash the day's dirtiness from your face; put on proper clothing. You must turn on a night light because you are too frightened to sleep in the dark. And still yet is this promise of waking. Farren wishes, often more than anything else, that it were different...

That night she dreams of an oddly familiar and enclosed space. Something cold, metallic, grazes her thigh. She gasps in surprise at the cold and asks whatever it is to stop.

"But why?" a mocking voice responds. Then it cackles crudely.

"_Please_," she begs.

Then the space is gone and Farren is somewhere she cannot identify. Are those trees or shadows? Is that the moon? How beautiful. Then a presence slinks in beside her and she forgets all about the moon.

"Hello?" In this misty silence her single word seems too loud, an intrusion. This place is not meant for spoken words.

"Yes."

This voice is different...seductive.

"Where are you?"

"I'm right here."

A dark figure rests beside her on the grass.

"Remove your cloak. I can't see your face properly."

"No," he says, and his lip curls into a distorted smile. _"But I see yours."_


	2. The Party

The Party

**The Party**

That Saturday Farren is the first to awake in the dormitory (she always is). It doesn't fit her personality to be an early-riser. Her "type" is languid and should attain the proper amount of beauty sleep. But it is as though some part of her does not allow her mind to rest.

Farren looks over to Celia. She is an early riser, too, and will probably wake soon. Celia looks so much prettier asleep. For once there is no permanently wounded expression on her face. And she isn't trying so hard like she does while conscious. It's not that Farren doesn't like Celia; in fact she is the only girl Farren can truly stand. But she sees the glaring flaws in her friend, and wishes to eliminate them.

This tendency of bettering people could be taken as arrogant or charitable - and Farren could argue for it both ways. But she could teach Celia how to fit in without having to loose a part of herself. That is something that comes so easily to Farren.

The blonde goes to the full length mirror beside the cabinet and examines her reflection. Things always do seem quite easy for her: she is pretty (or, at the very least, eye-catching), naturally fit, people year for her presence. But they don't know, do they? Because truthfully, she does not want them to know. Farren's greatest fear is that one of them would suddenly realize how very damaged and unlovable she really is. That her reign as the intimidating one would end. Will she always be this object that is nice to look at, but which you put away once the glamour has faded, never to resurface again?

"Morning, Ren." Celia takes the seat beside her only half an hour after Farren had entered the Great Hall.

"Hello," she says, smiling at her. "And how was your first week? We've hardly spoken. I reckon we've only got, what, three classes together?"

Celia agrees with dejection. "I've missed you. My brother was a nightmare over the summer! I think he's hit puberty. Suddenly he wants to meet the good-looking blonde girl in the pictures I take home."

She throws her head back, laughing. She has a loud laugh that may be slightly shrill at times. It is the laugh of a child before it is scolded into silence. "I do hope you mean me."

They chat, exchanging summer stories. It is primarily Celia who speaks, considering how empty Farren's summer had been. Her family has the means and money to travel; but her father rarely spent time with her in their proper house, let alone in other countries. Reciting her lone trips to France and Italy would've tortured Farren, who'd never quite admitted to her family's (if you could call it that) condition.

She is saved by the appearance of Grace, Alexia, and Jillian.

After Jillian makes a vulgar grab for oatmeal on the table, she turns back to Alexia. "What were you saying before?"

"Well I was asking whether you think I should give in to McLaggen and shag him."

Farren sees all the girls enter pensive states.

She scoffs openly. "Tiverius McLaggen? You can't be serious, Alexia. Not only is the bloke a year younger than you, but he has got about as much intelligence as a retarded chimpanzee. And he probably comes so fast you'd be pregnant before you could even perform the contraceptive spell -- the blundering idiot that he is."

At this all the Gryffindor girls at the table titter and giggle. They enjoy these little rants Farren would often find herself going off on.

But Alexia looks hurt. "But I like him—"

"Yes, yes. He makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside and you don't want to loose him, right?"

The girl wants to object, but Farren cuts her off again. "The point is, you are much too beautiful, love. You deserve more than that little boy thrusting into you. We can find you someone better.

"...But I mean, what do I know? Go for it if you really want to."

Had she been a bit harsh? Yes, but it's nicer than the disappointment Alexia would feel after the deed was done. See? All for the greater good.

Farren finishes her breakfast and rises from the seat.

"Where are you going?" Celia asks.

"I fancied a walk around the lake. Want to come?"

It is uncommonly warm for September. Several people mill about the lush green grounds, some even daring to dip their feet into the lake. Amongst them is the group that calls themselves the Marauders.

Farren feels herself blush slightly at the memory of her outburst a few nights prior. She despises blushing.

Sirius grins, spotting her from his position on the rock near the lake.

She returns it with a slightly raised eyebrow. He's quite good-looking in the sunlight.

And, after standing, he walks over to Farren. "Have a good sleep that night?"

"That would depend on whether you consider three hours a good sleep."

Sirius makes a sympathetic face and chuckles. "No, I don't. But listen—" he becomes serious, as though getting down to the real business. "The boys and I were going to nick some Firewhisky tonight and have a little get-together in the abandoned Divinations classroom on the 7th floor. Would you like to join us?"

Farren is intrigued despite herself. "And how would you be obtaining said Firewhiskey?"

A half grin tugs at his lips. "I'd tell you but..."

"But you'd have to kill me?"

He looks mockingly upset. "What a horrible thing to suggest of me." Then Sirius leans forward to whisper softly into her ear. "How could I ever harm anything remotely so beautiful?"

"Can my friends come?"

Farren silently congratulates herself at seeming so unperturbed. And she mentally sends a congratulations to Sirius as well. Good touch. He'd almost had her.

Sirius looks at Celia, seeing her for the first time. "'Course they can."

Then with that she bids him goodbye -- a little briskly -- and makes way to the edge of the lake.

Another boy Farren vaguely recognizes to be in her Potions class approaches them next.

"We should get started on the essay soon," he states, rather more bluntly than a normal person would.

It is only then that Farren remembers the assignment Professor Slughorn had given them to work on together in the previous lesson.

"Well I can't tonight," she blurts out, then quickly scans her brain for an excuse. "I have to..." But the words do not present themselves. For the first time ever Farren Graham is at a loss for an excuse. She is quite astonished.

"You don't need to lie," and the twitchy boy shoots her a less than friendly look. "Tomorrow, in the abandoned Divinations classroom on the 7th floor."

She nearly laughs. For being described as abandoned the classroom is sure used often.

"I pity you Ren," Celia says, looking disdainfully at the greasy-haired boy as he strides back toward the castle. "Out of everyone you got paired with the most socially retarded kid in the class. And for the rest of the year, too."

"What!" Farren exclaims. "I thought it was only for this assignment."

"Nope." Celia laughs, but stops abruptly when Farren trips her purposefully.

"Hey—!"

"I'm so glad my imprisonment humors you," she says sourly, but this only makes Celia laugh harder. "What's his name anyway?"

"Snape... Severus Snape, I think."

Dear Lord, even the name sounds alienated.

But Farren cannot help but be only minutely put off by the news. For once her Saturday night would not go to waste. She is in desperate need of a good laugh, which the Marauders could surely provide. And truth-be-told Farren wouldn't mind having Sirius Black's hands upon her. She wouldn't mind kissing him while his fingers danced along her arms and legs and neck.

A sudden laugh bubbles from her lips, and she clasps Celia's hands playfully. "Are you aware of how lovely you are, my darling?"

Celia smiles timidly. "I'm not nearly as pretty as you."

"We're different." The truth is that Celia is quite plain. But Farren is in a good mood and she wants to spread it.

The lake glitters and looks painstakingly beautiful. Farren says as much to Celia, not relinquishing her grasp.

"Yes," Celia says in that reserved, forcibly demure voice.

This is one of those flaws so visible to Farren. Celia says this one word,_ yes_, as though she deserves no more words. As though the word alone has taken up enough of Farren's precious time, which Celia is unworthy of.

But for now Farren ignores it, basking in the wonderful sensation of this particularly good Saturday morning. Yes, she'll worry about that later. For now, she'll play.

"Would you jump with me?" Farren asks, pulling Celia closer to the ledge.

The brunette looks horrified. "Into the lake? Are you mental? It'll be freezing!"

"Oh stop being a kill-joy. Just think of how wonderful that water would feel on your body." And as demonstration Farren runs her nails along the bare skin exposed on Celia's arms, smiling impishly.

"Fi--Ahhh!"

_Fine _is what Celia had been about to say. But Farren does not allow her to say as much, because she has sent them both leaping into the particularly cold water. Farren admits that it is indeed frightfully cold. And it remains so. Even as she joins in with the scandalized laughter from the audience they'd attracted, watching Celia huff onto dry land in sopping clothes.

But it really did feel magnificent to have the water glide along her skin.

Farren sits next to Alexia, who is inspecting herself in a hand-held mirror and reciting her flaws. She thinks it quite hilarious that, while doing this, Alexia applies even more make-up to the gobs already plastered on. If her intent is to look good, she should probably avoid resembling a clown so perfectly.

But glancing at Celia, Farren feels quite proud of herself. Her friend's normally bland brown hair has been highlighted beautifully with a spell of Farren's own invention. The make-up is so subtle that it could almost pass for natural. She is positive Celia would get one of the more attractive boys tonight if she so chose.

"Hello ladies." Sirius's voice -- she hates to admit -- now sends a little wave of excitement to a certain lower part of her body. "Are we ready to execute our plan?"

The entire Gryffindor 7th year Boys dormitory traipses down the steps: Sirius, James, Lupin, Frank, Kingsley, and Peter.

"Oy," says James looking around disappointedly. "Where's Evans?"

Farren gives a low laugh. "Now really Potter, did you expect Miss Perfect to attend such a frivolous ceremony? Underage drinking and out of bed past hours? Just be glad she didn't find out and run to McGonagall."

"Right you are, Ren. I suppose our James here will have to make due with all these potentials." Then he winks at her. "Except for one, of course."

Farren resists rolling her eyes with effort. Really, could he try and be more obvious? It'd be a challenging feat. Sirius seems almost incapable of even comprehending the word subtlety. And she cannot help but see the lie in his eyes. Farren recognizes the pleasure he gets from effortlessly winning a girl.

And that is why she'll be sure to make him work, if only a little.

The large group is sent in pairs with the guarantee (from James) that they would not be caught by Filch and company, by using certain paths. They trust him, and make their way through the 7th floor. Farren is paired with Sirius, of course, and he continues his relentless flirtation. She plays along.

When the last of the pairs arrive in the Divinations classroom, Lupin magically shifts the desks and chairs to the sides of the room, as well as places a silencing charm on the area. With that done, the Marauders come through with their promise, pulling out cases of Firewhiskey hidden beneath the old teacher's desk.

Farren cannot pinpoint precisely when the music came on, but it did. And somewhere between her second and third bottle she began to dance in a gaggle of girls. She stands back a moment to watch in amusement as the girls try desperately to swing their square hips in an attempt at sexiness. Are they aware of how ridiculous they look?

Though Farren's pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair make people think otherwise, she does have a touch of Hispanic in her. Her mother had been Argentine; and in fact she'd also been a semi-famous model in her country before marrying. She died when Farren was very young. But she can remember dancing with the woman to Latin music that had played from gigantic speakers in their living room.

With the memory vivid, Farren begins to sway and roll her hips to the beat. Her friends squeal encouragement, and the not-so-sober part of her cannot suppress a giggle.

Rather large hands slide across her side and rest precariously low on her hips. A muscular male has pushed up against her from behind. She does not need the whisper in her ear to know it is him.

"You are magnificent, Farren Graham. Do you know that?"

For a moment she thinks that Sirius must actually believe this. For a moment she is fooled. But then she remembers that the world thrives solely upon trickery. Believe in nothing and no one.

Farren enjoys the feel of him. But in the end she cannot allow herself to let go. This type of dancing is the kind of thing she denounced as moronic and juvenile. It would be hypocritical to continue. So she pulls Sirius away from the clump of dancing masses.

He is smiling, but Farren cannot place what type of smile it is. This bothers her and she stops, attempting to decipher it. But after a few minutes of staring, his chiseled features and gray eyes distract her.

Sirius places his hands gently onto her cheeks. They look almost comical in comparison to the girl's small face.

"It's odd," he says.

"What is?"

"When you're talking—or doing anything really—I never notice that you're actually quite little."

Half of her brain knows she should be offended by the comment, but the other half cannot care too much when he's doing _that_. _That_ being the whole Sirius Black _thing_.

He picks her up easily and places her on top of a hard surface.

"The Professor's desk?" Farren says, looking back at him bemusedly. "That is pleasantly kinky of you, Mr. Black."

He laughs. "That's Professor Black to you."

Then Sirius begins to leave a trail of small kisses upon her neck, rising very slowly to meet her mouth. Farren restrains from grabbing his head and doing it for him. And, when he finally does reach her lips, she opens hungrily for him.

There is no denying that Sirius is well-practiced in the department. For someone she'd deemed as unwanted at first, Farren is quite impressed. Though it isn't _exactly _how an ideal kiss would be, it comes damn near close. Those are his fingers tracing her collarbone lightly. And that must be his hand working up her skirt, caressing her thigh.

Farren suddenly stops, reminded of something. Something else, something metallic, brushing her thigh. The familiar cold takes her. Must this happen every time she is with someone? She yearns desperately for the day when she would learn to suppress this particular sensation.

"What's wrong?" Sirius asks.

"It's nothing," Farren says and continues the kiss.

**Author's Note**: For those of you who were skeptical about the whole "Farren being Hispanic, yet blonde" thing, I'd like to inform you otherwise. It happens. Trust me. My two sisters and I are all Brazilian and we have blonde hair, pale skin, and blue eyes... So don't go thinking she's a Mary-Sue just yet.


	3. How Else Could We Have Begun?

The Disastrous Meeting

**How Else Could We Have Begun?**

"Remind me never to drink Fire-whiskey ever again," Celia groans with hands clasped over her head.

Farren wants to agree, and opens her mouth to do so, but all that comes out is a sort of incoherent mumble. She tries again. "It would be lovely, if this insufferable headache didn't follow."

"Mum said it was God's punishment for sinners who drank their rum too generously," Grace says matter-of-factly.

Farren shoots her a piercing glare. "Thank you, Sister Grace, for that illuminating information. But _do _try and keep those fun facts in that hungry brain of yours."

"You don't have to be so nasty, Ren," Grace huffs.

But Farren is in a foul mood. She can tell Grace had undoubtedly faked how much she'd had to drink last night. She doesn't appear to be in nearly as much pain as the rest of them. This makes Farren angrier, however irrational that reaction may be.

"Ren," Celia says questioningly with a glance at the grandfather clock near the fire. "Weren't you supposed to meet Snape today?"

Her eyes widen cartoonishly. "Bugger," she mutters and springs into action, running out of the portrait hole.

People try to catch her attention as she dashes by them. There are shouts of "Hey Ren!" and "What's the rush?" and a few catcalls from boys (the buffoons). She pays them no mind and makes a bee-line for the classroom room she'd previously had no intention of revisiting.

Farren feels a wave of relief as the door looms into view and speeds up.

What time is it? Has Snape already condemned her as a forgetful twit, if he hadn't already before? Farren is always quick to defend on that matter due to presumptions people often made of the very blonde hair on her head.

The door is feet away when she suddenly collides with a very solid object.

"Who the – Ren?" It is James with Remus beside him.

"Oh," she sounds flustered and forces calm. "Sorry about that. I'm in a bit of a rush."

"No problem." Farren attempts to walk away but he calls her back. "While I have you here though, I was wondering whether I could get a word later."

"Fine," she says, impatient. "I'll see you in the Great Hall during dinner."

James responds but she's already gone through the door and cannot hear.

"You are late," is Snape's humble greeting.

Abruptly Farren realizes how silly she'd been for worrying about this grease ball of a kid, with his big nose and twitchy manner. Winning him over is in none of her interest. Who cares if he thinks her a forgetful twit?

Well, Farren does, but only a little.

"Sorry, I forgot."

"I have been waiting for more than an hour. Do not presume that if you show up late I'll do the work for you."

"I said I was sorry," Farren hisses through gritted teeth. "I have a very bad headache and our... meeting--" the word is said in slight disgust "--slipped my mind."

Farren expects the scrutinizing gaze Snape gives her to have no effect. She expects to have a moment of small victory for being unfazed by his intense eyes. But all of a sudden she feels a very quick, involuntary fidget.

Snape's eyes flood with pleasure. He has won this time. "I started the essay during class."

"What's it on again?"

"We have to describe the several ways in which one can kill with potions, as well as determine their remedies." He might as well have said, "You're an incompetent fool and I think you beneath me." It is already there in the undertone of his actual words.

"Alright then," Farren says in a falsely chipper voice, moving to sit beside him.

Snape speaks in a voice that is smooth yet prickly. Like the sweater that appears as though it would be comfortable, but turns out to be itchy. He looks up often from the paper to watch her stonily.

Farren cannot determine the color of his eyes because she is not close enough. Upon first glance they appear black, but she knows that can't be right. The thought begins to obsess her slightly, and Farren deviates manners in which to find out. It seems suddenly vital. Perhaps leaning in as though interested in the textbook? She is about to put an elbow on the desk when she realizes it's the very desk Sirius had placed her upon the previous night.

Farren had long-since come to the conclusion that she'd never truly liked a boy, but rather the attention the boy gave her. But Sirius, it would seem, is different. She revels in how surprisingly good their kiss had been. It's not as though she were swooning (God help the day Farren Graham swoons) but there is definite potential. Maybe she could learn to fancy him, despite the subtlety factor or lack there of. He might even turn out to be a genuinely good person. Though she wouldn't hold him accountable for too many expectations.

"Are you even listening?" Snape snarls.

"Yes," says Farren automatically.

"No you are not. I've repeated a question three times, and you failed to answer once."

A sharp throb in her head makes Farren feel overwhelmed for a moment, with Snape's shouting and the pounding of her brain beating against her skull. She attempts one of those charming smiles. "I am sorry I'm being so difficult –"

"Stop apologizing when you are so obviously indifferent!" He bangs his hand on the table and Farren jolts in surprise. "Stop being sorry and work! God, remind me to thank Professor Slughorn for placing me with an idiot like you."

_SMACK_. The slap is immensely audible, along with the clatter of the chair Farren has shot up from. "Don't you ever call me an idiot again," she says in a low and dangerous voice. "Do you understand me?"

His reaction time is impeccable. "Prove me wrong, then."

"I don't have to prove _anything _to you," Farren says, placing short pauses between each word to give emphasis. Then she grabs her things jerkily and leaves the room and Snape.

"So here's the thing," James says as he slips in beside her at the Gryffindor table, slinging an arm around her shoulder in a chummy manner. "This pretty good mate of mine is kind of falling for you."

"Oh really?" she says, playing along. "And who is this friend of yours? Is he good-looking?"

"I can't tell you _that_. You'll have to guess."

"Oh I couldn't possibly guess who this mysterious man is."

"Humor me."

She taps a finger to her chin as if pondering the challenge. "Does his last name happen to be a color, and the first an adjective?"

James makes an accusatory gesture. "Bloody hell, who've you been talking to?"

Farren grins, making the resemblance to a child even more pronounced than usual. "You're friend's tongue."

They laugh for a moment, then James says seriously, "But really, Ren. I just wanted to..." he hesitates, searching for the right words. "--caution you to play nice with our dear Sirius. He's had enough people treat him poorly in his life. Not saying that _you_ will," he adds hastily at her expression. "I'm just trying to look out for him. He's my best mate."

"I respect that," Farren says, really meaning it. Being a Gryffindor she has always held loyalty in high esteem, though the general public would never believe this of her. But Farren shows loyalty as best she can to the people she deemed worthy. "But we only kissed once, James."

"I know," he smiles. "He seems particularly interested in you."

"You do realize we're talking about Sirius Black. _The_ Sirius Black."

"Yes. And speaking of which, we never had this conversation. I'm pretty sure if _the_ Sirius Black knew I'd said anything to you, he'd murder me in my sleep."

Farren raises her hand in the universal sign of scouts. "On my honor."

He pardons himself just as Sirius, Remus, and Peter enter the Great Hall.

She watches as the friends greet each other, and is suddenly jealous of them. Each pair of eyes light up; their entire bodies become more animated at the sight of one another. They make it seem as if their friendship is enough to sustain them through it all. As though everything else in life is just a meaningless extra measure.

Could anyone ever be like that with her? Farren doubts it. If she ever made anyone's eyes light up it would be because she was in a bikini or partially naked or something. She can hardly sustain herself, let alone another. She will never be capable of what these four friends have. Not even when she is old, withering, and dying. This is a definitive truth and it stings to know.

Farren's focus changes. Her eyes wander away from the boys, to land on Snape. He sits at the Slytherin table. The empty plate which gleams beneath him casts odd shadows over his features and the sight is a little frightening.

He has been watching her. And he does not stop; even after it is plain she has caught him in the act. The stare stuns Farren... No one has ever bore into her with such demand.

And she suddenly has the strangest desire to whisper something captivating and provocative to him. She wants to play with the necklace that hangs so tantalizingly near her breasts. But something stops the asinine urge: the image of him yelling tersely; of his fist coming down hard on the table.

The next image is different, slow. Though it is not a memory, it appears just as vivid. It is Snape, with his long fingers curled around her chin and tilting that triangular face upward to examine it fully. The expression he wears is that of hunger, and greed, a wild… longing. His lips are moving and odd words reach her.

_"...No, but I see yours."_

A man suddenly calls Snape's attention. His eyes flicker away, and the connection is broken as easily as if it had never happened.

Farren remains quite still, incapable of turning away. She has never experienced anything like that. It had almost felt as though Snape penetrated past her physical or even spiritual being. As though he caressed her mind and left her no means of hiding or escape. It is some revolutionary intimacy that is not entirely believable to her. Perhaps it had been her imagination playing tricks once more.

Finally able to avert back to her food, Farren gives a small shudder. _I must be on a serious streak of sex deprivation if I'm having fantasies about Snape_, she thinks.

But a part of her knows the thought to be empty. The image had made her heart beat faster; had parted her lips slightly in anticipation. And Farren is forced to acknowledge the reality that Snape intrigues her. He is a man of mystery, and – she hates to admit – the only one capable of beating her at her own game. But more than anything she feels that he could see her more clearly than anyone had or ever would be able to. A fact that both frightens just as much as thrills her.


	4. Snape

Snape

**Snape**

Severus had taken interest in Farren Graham seven years ago while boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

Having said goodbye to his blank-eyed mother, Snape had begun to climb onto the train, but something stopped him: a shimmering gold from the platform. Turning in curiosity, he saw her. A girl with such a large shock of curls that, upon first glance, one wondered whether there could possibly be a person under it at all.

It startled Severus to see such an exuberant amount of color. All his life he'd been privy to mainly three colors: gray, black, and sallow (though he supposes_that, _in fact, is a skin tone rather than a color). And now, here stood this small girl with shiny hair wearing a loud blue dress.

Beside the Golden One was a plump man dressed impeccably in a business suit. He kept checking his watch impatiently and peering at those on the platform. The evident scowl and awkwardness on his face revealed the man as a Muggle.

The girls eager fidgeting confirmed Severus's suspicions.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye for the year," he heard her say, one foot already on the Express.

It seemed to take the adult a massive effort to remain concentrated or really care at all. "What? Oh, yeah... I'll be seeing you then, Anamarrie."

She flinched. "It's Farren, Papa."

"Right, right," said the man with a laugh, as though the whole thing was just a big joke. "You do so resemble your mother. Except for the hair, of course..."

With that he gave the Golden One a formal peck and was gone.

The train door closed and she exhaled a gusty breath. "Thanks for the good luck," she - Farren - muttered. "For all you care I could be sorted into Huffle-- Is someone there?"

Severus, who had flattened himself against a wall, jumped violently at being addressed. He was caught red handed. It would be difficult even for him to squirm or sneer his way out of the situation. So should he stay or run? Fight or flight?

He scrambled.

"Wait!"

The girl latched onto his shirt before he could get far enough away.

"Let me go--!" Snape thrashed around madly.

"Will you stop fighting?" she ordered with an authoritative tone.

He relaxed grudgingly.

"Good... Now, what's your name?"

Snape was slightly perplexed. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but a warm exchange of introductions hadn't been one. "Severus Snape."

She stepped back to consider him with scrutiny. "That suits you very well. Were you spying on me?"

"I -- No, it -- My trunk got --"

The girl laughed and it was a loud, ringing sound. "It's okay; you don't have to lie about it. I like it actually." With that smile, she extended a pale hand. "I'm Farren Graham, by the way. But everyone calls me Ren."

Severus shook the hand tentatively. Then, in a surge of bravery, said, "I like Farren better."

Her smile widened. "Well I like_you, _Severus."

They spent the entirety of the train ride in a compartment together, Farren speaking excitedly all the while. She informed him of what information she'd managed to scrounge up on Hogwarts. Snape thought she'd gotten a rather different impression of the school than he. From what his mother, Eileen Prince, had related, he thought of Hogwarts as nothing more than an institute of education. In fact he even found it rather dangerous, considering a Muggle-born girl had died in his mothers time.

But Farren spoke with such a fierce passion that Severus found himself getting just as excited. Her moods were infectious.

"I looked into the history and it's just so fascinating. Did you know that Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were best friends at one point? It ended right before Slytherin abandoned the school, though. They aren't even sure why it happened. But I think--" and here she leaned forward, continuing in a conspiratorial whisper "--that it had something to do with a girl they both fell in love with. I mean, that's how it always is.

_"_No, what I can't figure out is how they could've been friends at all. Total opposites, Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"But that's a good thing sometimes, isn't' it?" Severus interjected, speaking for the first time in hours. "Being so different from each other and all."

Farren grinned. "That's true."

And the rest, as they say, is history.

The first years were taken across the lake and into Hogwarts. Snape can remember McGonagall calling Farren's name to be sorted. Her knees shook as she walked, a fierce determination etched onto her permanently child-like features.

The wait to hear the hat's exclamation of "... GRYFINDOR!" had been unforgettably long. Some upperclassmen even resorted to pounding their silverware impatiently on the house tables, or to rude jeering and catcalls. Finally the fate was sealed and Farren bounded off the stool to the whooping crowed decked in red and gold.

Severus did not get sorted into Gryffindor. He was greeted by the more reserved applause of those from the farthest table.

There had never been an official declaration to remain separated. In fact, Severus suspected that Farren, so overwhelmed by her first year of magic, had forgotten their brief encounter. Certainly by now it was gone from her memory entirely.

Farren is rather well known for her forgetfulness. How many times Snape had heard her apologize to teachers for neglecting this homework or that. And after she'd apologize, Farren would laugh with the Professor (often Slughorn) at how endearingly absent-minded she was. On those occasions she reminded Severus irresistibly of a butterfly; or some other animal just as fleeting and insubstantial.

But then still at different times, when no one but he was looking and Farren sat alone, Severus would watch the radiance leave her face. Her eyes would visibly slip into some unknown horror. They were eyes, he couldn't help noticing, that remained a very complicated blue.

Snape would not be fooled by her. Farren could pretend to be the unfeeling butterfly all she wanted, but in the end, he knew better.

Severus enjoys watching her during class, attempting to interpret her many oddities, or even experimenting with the Legilmency he is novice to. The egotist in him takes pleasure in the idea that he alone can remember her as a vulnerable first year. No one else cares about that Farren. They are all too concerned with the new, more alluring version.

And there is no denying that Farren has become an attractive girl. But it is an odd beauty. One that could be debated whether truly beauty or an eccentric charm. No, that isn't the sole source of Severus's on-going infatuation with her.

Until recently, the "infatuation" had been nothing more than a keen interest. But he holds no more pretenses. She is now being waved right under his nose. Can he honestly be expected to react in any different way? Snape is, unfortunately, a teenage boy. And though he holds more self-control than the other vulgarities, that did not eradicate his needs...

Severus's imagination would wander from time to time while thinking of her. He would picture Farren slinking toward him from the ground with a coy smile on her heart-shaped lips. Or her wide eyes slitting and becoming something feral. Some of his motives have changed since they first met at the tender age of eleven.

Though, apparently, they hadn't changed enough.

When Professor Slughorn announced they would be assigned partners for their final year, Snape had hoped – too much so for his own comfort – that she would be the one. He even contemplated ensuring it with magic. But then Severus told himself sinking so low would be classified as petty. Something Potter or Black would do.

In the end it did not matter. Due to luck they were selected to work together. And after receiving their first assignment, the paper, Snape had gone to the grounds to reunite with Farren.

But Black got to her first. Severus walked by them and heard the boy inviting Farren to a night of drinking and partying.

He had never felt a fury such as that. His hands shook with the need to hurt Black, to feel his bones break underneath his fist--

Snape counted on a reasonable lateness from Farren (the girl would undoubtedly have a hang over) but he'd not expected an hour's tardiness. With each passing minute she did not appear, Severus became steadily more enraged. He imagined the two of them together, fucking. Black doing all the right things to her; and her moaning for him. The vicious fury deepened with the realization of his jealousy.

How dare she do this to him? Make him feel as though her every move directly affected him. Severus had promised himself as a small child to never allow a power such as this over him. And now here he is pining, like some sap, over a girl he had not spoken more than four words to in the past six years.

That is why the meeting went so disastrously. The sight of Farren sickened him. And then she'd tried to avoid work and treated him as just another subject to be manipulated. He lost control.

Severus admits he might have been a bit too harsh. Looking back he is quite embarrassed by the outburst. But in that moment he had known no stronger feeling than the hatred for... well, not her, precisely. More for the maddening idea of having a... crush (God, the word itself gives him enough spite to cast the killing curse).

That evening in the Great Hall, Severus performed Legilimency successfully for the first time. At first all he saw was Farren's insecurities. He felt sheer disappointment. After all this time, after everything, she was just another Gryffindor who wore her heart on her sleeve. She wined of how unlovable she was, and how damaged beyond repair she was, and--

...But then Farren's attention turned, and their eyes locked.

Her thoughts appeared, plain and unmistakable. They surged threw her intricate mind as broken images followed by odd words. Words whispered in a voice of soft desperation. And then there it was: their inexplicable and obscure affinity. The desire that should not have been. Wanted by neither, and felt so strongly by both.

There it was.

**Author's Note: **Can anyone get the "Golden One" reference? It's from Ayn Rand's Anthem. I thought it fit because A) Farren's hair, and B) Farren and Snape's relationship, like in Anthem, will take them to utterly new levels of intellect and knowledge.


	5. Mr and Mrs Impenetrable

Mr

**Mr. and Mrs. Impenetrable **

Her relationship with Sirius continues to grow well into winter. There is much flirtation and suggestion that Farren could have done well without (why can't people just get to the _point_?). But this slight frustration is often forgotten whenever Farren catches Sirius watching her from the corner of his eye. His gaze sparks something that she had long since thought to be dead and buried. It is something like warmth or serenity.

And Snape... well she doesn't quite know what to make of him. During Potions class they would do their assignments silently, only speaking when necessary. But her slap seems to have humbled him a little. Though he has by no means warmed, the open hostility has dissipated. A determination for his approval has Farren practicing subtle lures. The feel of his name, _Severus_, on her tongue is strange and delicious. But she assures herself that sensation would cease once she'd won him.

Farren often sees him writing in the margins of his Potions book and wonders what it could possibly be. He prefers to work alone (something. she would like to point out, that seriously undermines the entire purpose of Potion partners). And though Farren tries to help, Snape can be quite intimidating when he wants to be. So she sits and writes poems or plots other manners in which to charm him.

"Excellent work," Slughorn says on such an occasion, beaming down at the pair of them. "I think you two make an excellent tag-team."

Farren almost smiles. You must at least appreciate people like Slughorn. They are so real, so very blunt about their shallow intentions. Many problems in the world exist due to this inability people have of being honest with themselves. It's so silly. No one can or will ever succeed in hiding from themselves. Farren should know.

"I'm having a small party this week," Slughorn whispers, pulling her to the side and away from the rest of the class. "With a brain like yours, one could go very high up in the Ministry."

Farren bites back a nasty retort. It is obvious that the Professor is under the delusion that _she_ is the one doing all the work. This is probably wishful thinking on the old man's part. Because Severus, no matter how brilliant, could never be mistaken as someone destined for a high paying and influential job. But Farren sure looks the part.

"Forgive me, Professor," she says, unable to keep slight frostiness from her voice, "but I suspect I'll have too much to be getting on with. Your class does keep me working quite diligently. But I manage, thanks to the kindness and patience of Severus."

A fit of the giggles fights to take Farren at the mere thought of a kind and patient Severus Snape.

Slughorn appears almost crestfallen. "Yes, I understand. Next time, then."

"Your homework," he says, turning back to the class abroad, "is to finish the potion. You are free to go early."

"So when should we finish?" Farren asks Snape, gathering books into her arms.

He raises an eyebrow. "Finish?"

"Professor said –"

"I am quite capable of finishing the potion myself."

"But," she tries to find an excuse. "But I have to take notes."

He sneers. "Are we pretending that you actually take notes now?"

"I do take notes!" Farren defends. "...Sometimes – Well I did on this one anyway." She hasn't and they both know it.

"Very well." And before she can stop him, Snape takes the notebook right out from under her hands. "I will finish the notes for you."

Farren cannot stand to lie again. She generally doesn't mind doing it, but it was always so bloody obvious with Snape.

So she watches helplessly as he takes the notebook full of useless doodles and writing wholly unrelated to potion making or ingredients. It is only much later – as she and Celia walk into the Great Hall for supper – that Farren remembers precisely what those doodles and poems are about: Snape. They are all about Snape.

And just as this horrific realization hits her, the boy is there in the flesh, in all his hook-nosed and looming glory.

Is it Farren's imagination or does he look more pleased with himself than usual? Had he seen the poem where she described how a kiss might feel with his permanently sarcastic lips? Or the rather explicit one about his –

"We can finish the potion in a room near the singing suit of armor," Snape says in that indifferent tone of his, thrusting the notebook forward.

"Where?" She is the epitome of casualty, aware of Celia standing awkwardly beside them.

There is a definite smirk now. "The dungeons."

_Of course_, Farren thinks, _you want it to be on your territory, don't you, Sev?_

"Very well. What time?"

"Two (generally, if the number is 'ten' or less, spell it out) o'clock. Oh, and Farren," Snape adds, using her name for the first time. "I pray you will not be delayed this time around. I do not tolerate lateness."

It seems to take an eternity until she can finally be alone. But when Farren is tucked inside her four-poster bed, she extracts the notebook from her school bag; glad to have an excuse to postpone sleep (her nightmares are becoming steadily more frequent and violent).

She winces at each poem she rereads. There can be no mistake of whom Farren speaks of. These wretched words have deceived her. But then she spots something odd on the last page. There is different writing there, written by a hand that is not her own. It is scrawled beneath Farren's last poem.

She reads her own words first:

_You experience a moment of triumph __  
__As you trust that your eyes see all and everything __  
__But even you, Mr. Impenetrable, cannot unravel my every riddle __  
__And – funny thing – to them your knowing eyes are black __  
__But to me they are an unknown to be realized_

And then the fresh writing:

**  
**_**I may not be able to unriddle you, my willful temptress **__**  
**__**But I may certainly undress you**_**  
**

Someone stirs in her bed and Farren immediately shoves the book out of sight. Lily Evans sits up, the red covers sliding off her in the motion. She looks about wildly. Then, spotting the blonde also evidently awake, she furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

"Something wrong?" Farren asks.

"No, no. I'm just cold... You?"

"Thirsty," she gets out of bed and walks to the window, pouring a glass of water. Farren offers it to Lily, but the girl shakes her head.

Lily had not woken with such a start because she'd been cold, and Farren had not remained awake due to thirst. These facts are unspoken but very plain to them both. It is perhaps this that possesses Lily to blurt out her next question.

"Why do you have so many nightmares? I mean—" she catches herself and adds, "It's quite a curious thing. Does it run in your family or something?"

With her back still turned, Farren bares her teeth in a bitter smile. "No, it doesn't run in my family." And in a sudden burst of carelessness she turns to ask, "Do you really want to know why? Very well. I have nightmares because my muggle family used to tell me stories when I was little that I've never been quite able to get over. Pathetic, I know. But a truth, none-the-less.

"And I have them because my Uncle was a tad liberal with his hands when it came to me. But it was generally understood that my uncle was a man of vices, and no one thought much of it." For once Farren is very grateful for the dark as a threatening wetness swells in her eyes. She cannot be sure which emotion has brought it on: anger, relief, misery, self-pity, or revulsion. They are all reasonable candidates.

"And by now I understand that it wasn't my fault. I understand that he was just a sick bastard and I won't allow his weaknesses to affect me. I simply won't. Because I'm sure other people can tell other, more horrible childhood memories—Hell, I'm sure you can," she gestures at Lily dismissively. "And isn't that horrible? The way we all believe we're special because we've had these awful things happen to us and, as it turns out, it just makes us the same? The smallest, most insubstantial thing can scar someone for life… My uncle used to carry this big pocket watch around with him and it grazed my leg once. Just a slight graze. But have you ever had cold metal pressed against your skin? Out of everything, I think that is what will haunt me most. That and the clicking of his clock. That clicking sometimes sounds louder in my head than the sound of my own heartbeat.

"I don't think I'll ever love someone and I'm scared I'll always remain this temporary _thing_… And the worst part is having to silence it all. Because we're not _allowed_ to talk about what's hurt us, are we? No. We're supposed to sit down, shut up, listen, and do our schoolwork. We can't even admit that we've been affected—damaged— by the most ordinary things."

There is a long pause after Farren finishes. She studies Lily's face carefully, but cannot see the expression clearly. But what she can discern is astonishing. The girl's stare is not – as Farren had expected – horrified or pitying or even confused. Instead, it's a strange sort of understanding. Lily's vivid green eyes appear piercing. They are a perfect balance of serenity and fervor. "It's horrible, isn't it?" she says softly. "To have to silence everything."

Farren nods. "Yes, it is."

Then, reaching discreetly for something on the side table, Farren points her wand and says, "Obliviate."

"Don't be daft. The erumpet horn is added after the runespoor!" he barks, making her start with the erumpet in hand.

"Sorry," Farren says, not sounding as though she were.

Snape pushes her aside, assuming the girl's previous task.

Suddenly it becomes all too much for her. Had he not written that suggestive message in her notebook? Would he not take responsibility for any of his actions?

Farren slams the knife she'd been using onto the counter, immediately succeeding in attaining Snape's attention. "You know what? I don't think this whole partnership is working out too well. We obviously do not get along--" She pauses, and when she speaks again her voice is strained with forced civility. "I will speak to Professor Slughorn. I'm sure he'll let us switch partners. So, it was _lovely_ to have made your acquaintance, good luck with your life, and goodbye."

She takes one step toward the door, but something cold clamps around her wrist, forcing her to desist in her departure. Farren realizes – with a shock – that it is Snape's hand.

He releases it instantly, as though her skin had become unbearably hot. "Don't," is all he says in explanation.

"Give me one good reason."

"Changing partners would run the risk of landing me with Potter or Black or one of those--"

"Allow me to clarify: give me a reason that would interest _me_," she hisses coldly.

Snape continues as if Farren hadn't spoken. "--And risks you being partnered with someone such as yourself. That is to say someone whose forte is _not_ in the realm of potion making and academics as a whole."

"Didn't I warn you," Farren roars, hardly aware of the wand she's whipped out, "to never question my intelligence again?"

Snape, in contrast to her fury, appears quite unperturbed. "And have I?" he inquires. "I merely stated that you are not the type to be bothered with schoolwork. That is, unless you are of the opinion that marks and grades measure an individual's intelligence..."

"Alright, alright," Farren snaps, returning the wand grudgingly into her back pocket. She would've liked to object, but knows that would be churlish. It is, in fact, precisely her belief that intelligence is something more obscure than memorizing spells and potions. And despite what he had said, Snape's slight sneer tells Farren his belief is different.

"You know, I really dislike you," she says.

The sneer becomes more prominent. "No, you don't. You hate that I am capable of outsmarting you. It is something quite unfamiliar to you."

Farren suddenly bursts into peels laughter.

"What?" Snape demands sharply.

"Do you realize that you just complimented me? It was the most bizarre compliment I've ever gotten, but..."

And here he allows himself a very small smile. "It wasn't meant to– "

"Oh, shut it," she says, still laughing.

When the laughter dies down a few seconds later, it seems – even after this slight playful banter – they are destined to slip back into their cold relationship.

But then Snape grabs her hand once more. The chill of it is very strange, but pleasurable all the same. The touch seems to remind Farren of how uncomfortably warm her skin always is. The cold is welcoming, a relief.

"You are bleeding," he states.

"What?"

Farren is shocked to see a decent amount of blood dripping down the center of her palm. It leaves a dark trail on her otherwise unblemished flesh. "Oh... it must have been the knife."

"Yes," Severus says absently. He retrieves his wand lying beside their simmering cauldron and gestures wordlessly at the wound. The skin laces back together, the blood flow stopping in accordance.

"Thank you," Farren says, her voice a little breathier than usual.

She tries to retrieve her hand, but Snape does not relinquish it.

_I__ should say something more_. But what _can_ she say? Many thoughts race through her mind, all incoherent and useless. Opening her mouth, Farren results to improvisation--

But suddenly his pale fingers are tracing the newly healed flesh on her palm, and the words catch in her throat, turning into a very soft sigh. His strokes begin to extend further and further up her arm, testing their boundaries carefully. The movement is so deliciously slight. Farren's body hums with an unbidden anticipation. Those fingers reach her collarbone. It seems as though they wish to drink in her every detail, every pore...

Her lids flutter down.

But abruptly the sensation stops. Farren's eyes fly open and they are staring into a face that appears just as disconcerted as she feels.

_You are so strange_, she thinks wildly. _And I want so much of you. But you won't ever give me it, will you? _

"We are finished here. You... You are free to go," Snape says, turning curtly toward the door.


	6. An Elixir

An Elixir

**An Elixir**

He is waiting for Farren when she reaches the common room, descending from the girl's dormitory. His hands are in his jean pockets and he appears broad, casual, young--at his prime. No one of the male gender should be _allowed _to look that good. Imagine the problems it could create with so many girls out there who are less cynical than Farren?

"May I ask where you're taking me?" she says to Sirius.

"Ren for the last time, you'll see in a minute."

The girl grumbles, flipping her hair angry in an angry motion. "I don't like surprises."

Sirius laughs and it is bark-like; just as loud as her own. "Are you sure you won't be cold? We're going outside, onto the grounds."

Farren peers down at the long, flowery skirt and blouse. "You don't like it?" she toys.

"Well yes, I do. But ideally I want you wearing nothing, so I _am _a tad biased."

"I say," Farren adopts a tone of mock indignity. "Are you suggesting that you would like to see me stark naked, Mister Black?"

He grins. "Forgive me, Miss Graham. But would you have me lie?"

"Heaven's no."

Farren strides past him and Sirius's eyes follow accordingly. "I would have you ask like a proper gentleman, then oblige."

She grins to herself as she walks with her back turned to the portrait hole.

Sirius manages to catch up. "Do you know how maddening you are?"

"Me? Maddening? But whatever can you mean...?"

The smile has disappeared. "It worries me. You'll get yourself into trouble one day."

Something cold flickers in her lungs, robbing her temporarily of breath.

"Yes," Farren says softly, not entirely certain Sirius hears or that she intends him to.

They turn to a book shelf that is propped against a wall. But, when he removes a large orange book, the wooden structure begins to move inward, revealing a passage way.

"How is it that you know every bloody trick to this castle?"

The staircase looks as if it's endless. Farren's shoes make delicate sounds against the stone. She wishes it were more bold and loud.

"I am afraid that is classified information which you must earn, Ren."

"And how do I go about doing that."

"Oh I'm sure you can think of _something_."

Farren pretends not to understand this innuendo. "Like waxing your broomstick, for example?"

He stops suddenly. She does not react quickly enough; and Sirius only barely manages to keep her feet on the ground, grinning. "You could call it that."

A laugh escapes Farren and it echoes shrilly.

"Sorry," she murmurs into hands she'd clamped over her mouth.

The walk to the grounds is a long and very cautious one (since they are, of course, students out of bed and past curfew). When their destination is finally reached, Farren regrets not having listened to Sirius. She is shivering, but tries to do so quietly and without him noticing.

"Are you going to tell me what we're doing here?"

"Going into the forest."

"The f-forest? Are you m-mental?"

Her attempts to hide the shivering fail miserably and Sirius hands over his jacket; reprimanding her for not having heeded his word. She, in turn, points out that it is really his fault for bringing her out there.

The other Marauders are waiting for them on the outskirts of the wildly growing trees.

James beams at them. As Farren passes by, he winks.

Is it her imagination or does Remus look paler than usual? And the expression he wears is that of a man who might be sick at any moment.

"Sirius, I need to talk to you," he says in a harsh tone that is very unlike him.

Sirius agrees and the two boys move further away for privacy.

James tries to engage Farren in conversation.

"Sorry about the poor conditions, but Sirius insisted on you coming."

"Yes," she says quickly, straining to hear the other conversation.

"_...Moony I swear she'll be gone before the clouds even start clear up."_

"And you know Sirius: he generally gets what he wants."

"_...I just thought it would be fun if--"_

Sirius's words are drowned out by the hiss of Remus's retort. But Farren cannot hear it because now James has given her up as a bad job and moved on to Peter.

"Shall I go get the _man _of the hour, then?" asks Sirius, sauntering back with a peaky and still unconvinced Lupin beside him.

Peter and James voice their zealous agreement.

With one last grin exchanged with James, Sirius disappears into the trees.

Farren has a strange desire to run after him. When she looks up into the sky to busy herself, she notices there are indeed heavy clouds. When she was little Farren believed, quite whole-heartedly, that cloud formations were messages sent to her by the Gods and Goddesses. But after a boy in her primary school had said a cloud she'd taken to be an arrowed heart was in actuality male genitalia, Farren gave the up on the fantasy.

"You're different from the rest," says a voice, intruding on her solidarity.

Lupin has moved in beside Farren silently and without her notice.

"What do you mean?"

"From the other girls... He doesn't talk about you. And the one time James tried to bring you up in a joke, they rowed."

Something slides into place in Farren's mind. She remembers the day James had spoken with her privately. A sudden rush of affection for Sirius bursts inside her.

"Do you not like me, Remus?"

He looks momentarily perplexed. But then understanding floods his features. "No, no. It's not like that at all, Ren. Sirius was..." He struggles to find the right words. "It was just very foolish of him to bring you tonight. It is very dangerous... _What _Sirius could have been thinking--" But Lupin stops himself, not wishing to speak ill of his friend.

Loud noises suddenly sound from within the forest. Noises that are unmistakably heavy feet pounding on the hard ground--

No, wait. It couldn't possibly be feet: there are too many. Four paws? Or hooves? Either way there seemed to be a massive animal (or beast) charging straight toward them. Farren voices her concern, sounding rather more panicky than she'd have liked.

But instead of breaking out in alarm the two boys only smile.

"We know," says Peter conspiratorially.

Farren wants to kick him.

"It's okay, Ren," interjects Lupin. "It's a friend of--"

Something enormous collides with the small girl and sends her flying toward the ground.

She lands sprawled, an enormous black dog straddling her.

There is a moment of panic in which Farren fears whether the dog will still attack. But then he is licking her with a lolling pink tongue.

She laughs, all restraint forgotten. If there is one thing Farren loves, it is animals of all kinds.

"Where in the world did you come from?" She sits up, attempting to pet his fur. It is uncommonly silky.

But the dog is unintentionally knocking her back in his enthusiasm. It's massive tail whacks between her knees, promising a nice bruise when morning came.

"We... found him years ago while exploring."

Farren only distantly realizes she should be worried of the stray having some sort of disease. She cannot care too much.

"What's his name?"

The boys pause.

"Snuffles," Remus answers, leering uncharacteristically .

The dog stops his incessant liking to look up at Lupin as if angry.

"That's a pansy name for such a massive dog," Farren declares.

The animal responds appreciatively, resuming the licking on her face now.

She giggles, pushing away gently. "I don't think Sirius would appreciate it if you went further with me than he has, Snuffles."

The boys erupt into laughter and don't stop for several minutes.

Farren hadn't expected the joke to be that funny, but is pleased none-the-less.

"Where is Sirius anyway? He's missing out on the all the fun."

"He'll be back sooner or later," James responds, still grinning.

"Sooner rather than later, I expect," says Remus pointedly.

Farren manages to stand, still petting the enigmatic dog . "Oh he _is_ quite adorable," she admits. "Big dogs are one of my soft spots."

Then Snuffles is tugging at Sirius' jacket, attempting to pull her somewhere. Farren obliges until they reach the breach between the grounds and forbidden forest.

"Go on. I think he wants to take you to Sirius."

She hesitates, debating whether to concoct a manner of evasion.

But eventually, not wanting to loose face, Farren follows.

With every passing second she grips the dogs fur more tightly. This, however, is no comfort. Her pulse quickens; beating against her neck like a trapped thing. .

"I don't like this," she says to the empty air. "Can't we hurry, Snuffles?"

To her utter amazement the dog speeds up considerably.

The moment they reach open air Farren lets out a breath she'd unknowingly been holding.

She examines her surroundings after recovering a little. The lake is feet away, just as beautiful in the moonlight as it is in the sun.

Snuffles is barking, indicating she should come to stand beside him.

The night is crisp. And though it is a lake rather than an ocean, a distant part of Farren is reminded of summers spent beside the Atlantic and with her mother.

Initially she sees nothing particular in the reflection of the water. Farren only notices her pale face starring back, looking -- as always -- slightly shocked and very child-like. But then there is suddenly a flash and words appear as pure light grazing the water's surface.

Leaning in more closely, she reads:

_Farren Graham, you are an elixir. May I forever be thy drinker._

A small smile fights to take her lips.

"So dramatic," she mutters. But in that moment his theatrics-- his total insistence on unsubtly is quite endearing.

"Yes it is a bit dramatic, isn't it?" says Sirius, emerging and obviously pleased with himself.

"_May I forever be thy drinker_? No, Shakespeare would be proud," Farren teases.

He shrugs. "I couldn't help myself."

Sirius peers down at her, appearing more genuine than she could ever remember. He looks slightly captivated by whatever he sees there in her face.

"Be with me," he says, not really making it a question.

The night is very quiet. Farren had started this thing with Sirius not expecting quietness at all.

She isn't entirely sure she wants it.

Farren is well aware that, if she consented, this would be the first time Sirius Black had ever been tamed into seeing one girl exclusively. She is aware that by agreeing she would probably be thoroughly disliked by many girls that counted themselves her friends.

With that thought Farren tries to contain a smirk as she says, "That depends."

"On what?"

"You'll have to let me in on more of your secrets. I do not enjoy being uninformed."

Sirius considers this. "I can't tell you everything, Ren. Some of it's not my secret to tell... But I'll try my best."

Farren tries to pull away, but his hold remains firm. "And what is your best?"

"If you promise to be patient, nearly everything."

Sirius's eyes are intent. Not demanding, but expectant. For the first time she notices an odd harshness to his features. Perhaps it is the shadows cast from the moonlight, but Farren doubts it.

She recognizes the look. It's the expression her father would inhabit every time he looked at Farren, after Anamarrie -- her mother's -- death. It's the look of some suppressed darkness.

"Yes," she answers finally.


	7. My Unnoticed Loyalty

My Unnoticed Loyalty

**My Unnoticed Loyalty**

She watches the window lazily as the remaining leaves fall from a large oak tree, Professor Binns's low monotone washing over her.

A thestral glides over the Forbidden Forest, spinning in mid-air with a flutter of black wings. She wonders who else in Hogwarts can see them or if they get the same sensation Farren does at their appearance. Is it strange that she wishes to pet them; to stroke what she is sure would be scaly coldness? Farren is almost positive others must feel the desire too.

Her gaze shifts downward to a boy sitting near the bleak view outside. The bored expression on Sirius's face does not detract from his attractiveness. He is leaning back against his chair, feet propped on the desk.

Farren has an urge to kick the chair from under him, for no other particular reason than her own boredom.

As if in response to this thought, Sirius glances up at her and smiles slowly.

A note appears on her desk before she can respond to him:

_Snape is staring at you _

– _Celia_

Farren turns around. For a second it indeed seems as though Severus is staring. But then he scribbles something on his paper and looks back up at the Professor. He is only taking notes.

Turning the paper over, Farren writes:

_No he wasn't. He's such a git though. Why were you looking at __**him **__anyway? _

– _f_

When out of close proximity of Snape, Farren tends to forget how or why she is so infatuated with the hooked-nosed boy. So she isn't precisely lying to Celia when calling him a "git".

Extracting her wand, Farren charms the note to Celia in the row of desks closest to Professor Binns.

A few minutes later, it slides back:

_Because I want him. Rolls eyes. Honestly, Ren. _

– _Celia_

Farren smirks.

_Well there's no denying his sexy voice. And that nose..._

– _f_

This is why she likes Celia best. No one else could understand her crude humor.

Celia grins then writes a response. But just as the paper begins to float up to Farren, it zooms away in completely the wrong direction.

A rather large and tanned hand catches it. Sirius leers wickedly as he begins to read.

Farren swallows.

His face grows steadily stonier with each passing second. Those hands bawl into fists around the paper and his body tenses, as though braced for a battle.

_Fuuuccckkk, _is Farren's rather eloquent thought.

After a few minutes the note is magiced back to her, wrinkled and slightly ripped. She rereads the conversation, perceiving it as Sirius would. It makes her squirm with guilt.

Celia has added a new part:

_Yes, Snape is doubtlessly a mind-blowing shag... Probably bigger than Black too._

– _Celia_

Farren knows instantly that Sirius will not understand their game-- rash to come to conclusions as he is. He doesn't get the humor, and how dreadfully funny the girls find this pretense of "sexy Snape". This isn't due to some sort of insecurity or any rubbish like that. No, it is because it's Snape, who Sirius loathes beyond reason.

After what seems to be an eternity the bell rings. Farren rushes to reach Sirius before he can escape.

Shaggy dark hair looms into view.

"Sirius!" she says in a rather unladylike shout.

He turns grudgingly but waits.

Farren hopes the smile she gives is winning. "Sirius you can't _honestly _be cross with me."

His teeth are clenched tight. "Of course not."

She is almost taken aback. She'd expected annoyance, perhaps even anger. But this... he is furious.

"It was a joke! We were having a laugh." And in an attempt to lighten the mood she adds, "I'm _sure _you're larger than—"

"It's not about that!" And Sirius looks so horrified at being compared with Snape, that it's all Farren can do not to laugh. "He _was_ staring at you."

"No he—" a realization cuts her short. She steps back, considering him. "You're jealous!"

Farren finds the idea quite fanciful. Never having had a protective father, part of her yearns for male jealousy. The desire is vain and idiotic but also very strong.

"Ren, I'm being serious. Snape is a git, but he's a powerful one. He's been up to his eyeballs in the Dark Arts since his first year. And he has many friends willing to do horrible things. Not just willing, _eager_!"

"Sirius, breathe!"

He takes her advice, finishing more slowly. "Just don't lead him on."

Farren blushes in embarrassment and surprise. "I don't lead anyone on," she mutters.

He lets out a startling laugh. "Ren, I'm not a moron. But I don't mind it. Whatever gets you through the day."

Her eyes widen in shock. Apparently Sirius can read her better than she'd thought.

"But not Snape," he concludes with vehemence.

"I can hold my own, you know," Farren counters. "I'm not a defenseless—"

"I am well aware of the fact that you are a competent dueler. But I still don't like the idea of you meddling with him. Our mutual hate doesn't have to involve you."

"My hero," Farren says, rolling her eyes. "So who do you think would win in a duel: me or the giant squid?"

"Giant squid," Sirius says without hesitation.

"You arse! You just said I—"

"Well you must consider the Giant Squid is probably fourteen times your size," he says fairly.

"_Touché_." And Farren kisses him, her lips still holding the ghost of a smile.

Most of the students have already gone to either lunch or their next lessons. But a few still remain to witness the couple's kiss and many girls shoot Farren disgusted glances. This makes her want to pull away from Sirius and make vulgar gestures with her tongue and hands.

But she doesn't.

No, what makes Farren pull away is a sudden glimpse of marble pale skin and billowing robes.

"What is it?" asks Sirius.

"I... nothing—" and she kisses him again.

Luckily, that is enough of a distraction. Severus leaves, unnoticed by all but Farren, who recognizes the extra tightness to his jaw.

The fork Farren had been using to play with her dinner rests poised in her hand, completely forgotten. She stares blankly in front of her. She is thinking of how, in a few hours time, she will close her eyes; only to wake to her own sweating, trembling body. And the panic, of course. The panic is always there.

And she is thinking of this dangerous game she plays with not only Sirius and Snape, but with herself as well. There is no way for things to end well. That is very clear. But what is clearer than anything else is the fact that Farren is trapped... There is no backing out now. And whether this acceptance of her fate is weakness or intelligence, Farren cannot determine. All she knows is the future is set out before her: bleak, beautiful, tragic, and unchangeable.

"Are you alright?" Celia asks her softly, knowing not to draw attention.

Farren hesitates for a second. She envisions herself telling Celia everything: the dreams, their cause, of Snape and Sirius—just as she had done with Lily before obliviating her. Would it really be that bad to tell her? To release everything that she has bound so securely to herself.

She could do it. Right now. A lifetime of silence won't matter as much if it is ended, finally, by a hoard of trust and truth.

But then Farren remembers Celia's fragility and what a burden the truth would be. She cannot do that to Celia. Given the choice, Farren herself would love nothing more than to forget her past. Why trouble another with worries that would know no avail?

There is that loyalty again. The loyalty that won't ever be known and that passes wholly unnoticed.

"No, I'm fine."

Farren sees Lily Evans's head suddenly look up at her from several seats down the Gryffindor table. Is it possible that the girl still had remnants of the memory? It had been a reckless thing to do—

"Miss Parkinson," the distinct voice of Professor McGonagall says from behind them.

"Yes?"

"May I have a word with you?"

Celia nods, looking apprehensive.

The moment they are outside the Great Hall, the gaggle of seventh-year girls at the table lean in to discuss precisely what wrong doing Celia might have done. Farren does not join in. Something is wrong, she senses it in the way McGonagall's voice had been slightly softer than the usual snap.

Her suspicions are confirmed when a sudden cry sounds throughout the stone walls. Farren bounds from her seat, gliding -- running -- to the large wooden doors.

Celia is there, crumpled on the floor. Professor McGonagall is attempting to assist the girl back to her feet, but Celia's legs do not appear to be working properly. She is whiter than Farren has ever seen her, the shock in her brown eyes giving the impression of a mad man.

Farren goes to her, simultaneously pushing McGonagall's hands away and placing her own hands upon her friend's face. She rests Celia's head onto her shoulder, stroking the thin, wispy strands of hair. The girl remains stiff, blindly allowing the embrace.

They stay there for a while on the cold ground, unmoving. Farren is hardly aware of the spectators that have gathered to witness.

And though she wishes she hadn't, Farren catches the whisper from a nearby boy.

"Her parents just sent an owl... Her brother's been attacked by a dementor. They got him… He's been kissed."


	8. Rescue Me

Rescue Me

**Rescue Me**

It takes the Parkinson family four hours to pick Celia up from Hogsmeade Station. Sirius is dragged away at seven for a detention (his vigorous protests earn him another); Farren tells Professor McGonagall that she needn't wait with them at nine, and the Professor leaves by 9:30.

Only Farren remains to say goodbye to Celia. She would have liked to say something comforting, something that would take away the alarming look in her friend's eyes. But there is nothing she could say. All she could do is lace her fingers through her friend's and wait four hours for her family to arrive.

The walk back up to the castle is only survivable for Farren because of her illuminated wand. And though she still remains frightened, her mind is on different matters… horrors other than the darkness…

Farren remembers all of the deaths she has witnessed. The first being her mother when she was very young. She can remember her father and uncle informing her that Annamarie was never coming back. At first Farren had thought this to be simply another one of their horror stories, another lie. But her mother never did reappear. She remains now engraved in the girl's memory as an idyllic thought rather than an actual person.

And there have been others: distant Aunts, Uncles, and family friends. She has attended a countless number of funerals. But only one really mattered. Her lovely, elegant grandmother. Farren definitely misses her most.

The sound of her footsteps is resoundingly loud in the empty corridors. Some portraits wake from their stupors, requesting angrily for a little peace and quiet. Farren reassures them she'll be gone soon enough. It's the seventh landing, and the portrait hole couldn't be much further.

And, with the portraits satisfied and quieted, Farren shuts her eyes. They are achy and itch slightly. But it's more than that, the ache runs deeper than her eyes. Still, it is wonderful to have them closed. She feels vulnerable and for once allows it.

_I am here_, she thinks to the darkness. _My eyes are closed. I am five feet tall, defenseless, and open. Do your worst._

For a few long moments she actually expects something to happen. Clammy hands to wrap around her ankles, wild screeching to sound, a whisper in the dark, the Boogie Man, something – anything... But there is nothing but the silence.

Slowly, her eyelashes flutter open.

"And what have we here?"

It is the sound rather than the words themselves that have Farren instantly on the defense.

"_Stupefy_!" she screeches before she can stop herself. But the spell has no hope of hitting anything at the odd angle it is cast from.

"_Immobulus_," the voice says lazily.

Farren's entire body stops working. She crumples to the ground, landing harshly onto her right side. A dull but prominent pain stabs at her rib cage, where she has fallen.

But Farren hardly notices it in her panic.

Every limb is screaming for her to run – to move, at least, and see the face of her attacker. But all she can do is search frantically in her line of vision, which is of the floor.

Someone rolls her roughly onto her back. The pain in her side stings.

A boy with gloriously long, blonde hair is smirking down at Farren.

It is Lucius Malfoy.

"Aren't we jumpy tonight? It is unwise for a pretty girl such as yourself to be roaming the corridors so late. Speaking of which, why were you – Ahh." Something seems to jog his memory. "Your friend Celia, her brother was attacked, was he not? And you, the loyal friend, stayed with her for moral support." Malfoy smiles sickeningly, his cold eyes merciless. "The demise of every Gryffindor: loyalty and friendship."

And now he's crouching down. He is so close that Farren can feel his breath hot on her neck.

"You know, I've seen the way Snape looks at you. Can't see how _you're _any different from the rest. Granted, you have your assets," his eyes rove her body. "But I think it takes more than that to peek old Sevy's interest."

_Oh please don't_, Farren thinks._ Please, please, please... I don't think my sanity will recover if I go back to that. Please--_

"Is there something you are hiding from us all, Miss Graham? Something that only dear Severus can see? I am quite curious to know."

Malfoy laughs at the mounting terror in her eyes. And before Farren can fully grasp the situation, she's being dragged across the ground like some absurd, life-size doll.

"Which would you prefer? The Imperius?" He cackles again. "Having you _beg_ for more would be quite entertaining, I must admit. Or perhaps just like this... No that's no fun at all."

Farren is thrown once more, now onto a classroom floor.

"Or I could simply not use any spells," Malfoy considers, slinking beside Farren. "I like the idea of seeing you struggle and –"

The door bangs open and a looming figure stands poised at the threshold. Malfoy is on his feet in mere seconds. But then, recognizing the figure, he relaxes.

"Severus?" he says, making it a question.

Snape's gaze flicks from Malfoy, to Farren, and then to the wand in Malfoy's hand. "Narcissa is looking for you," he says, in tones of frightening composure. "She is a great friend to me, Lucius."

"You won't – You won't tell her, will you?"

"Informing her of your infidelity would only distress her further. It seems Bellatrix has yet to return from her latest duty for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But if I catch you again, I will not be so inclined to turn a blind eye... Go."

Malfoy gives Farren a sideways glance and Snape adds, "I will modify her memory."

Snape remains still and unmoving until he hears the sound of the closing door. And when they are finally left alone, he raises his wand. "_Rennervate_," Severus says, with a quick wave.

All at once movement and sensation rushes back to Farren. She tries to simultaneously shove her skirt down and clutch at her right side. Waves of pain are roaring through her body and she's gasping. The gasps turn into sobs, the sobs become hysterical tears, and it is as though Farren Graham is unraveling at the seams. She rocks backward and forward, panting between tears for breath. But breath isn't coming fast enough. She is suffocating. Oh_ God_, she's drowning in the pain.

Eventually, finally, her spasms subside and Farren lies motionless, curled, still clutching what she suspects is a fractured ribcage.

"Where does it hurt?"

Sometime during everything, Snape had moved to crouch beside her. Her back is turned to him. His voice and its assurance are like cold ice on burning flesh.

"Here," she says, voice thick and very much unlike her own.

There is a moment's hesitation where Snape asks silently for her permission.

Farren nods.

He lifts her shirt slightly to examine the damage.

"Do you think you can stand with my help?"

"I – yes."

Snape puts her arm around his neck and they rise slowly together.

"There's a room down the hall where I can brew a mending potion. Are you able to make it that far?"

Farren almost asks why they don't just visit the Hospital Wing. But then she remembers. Snape is not there to save her, but to clean up after Malfoy... Isn't he?

She nods again, wincing.

"I can carry you, if you'd like. You are small enough –"

"No. Just help me walk."

They begin to hobble down the corridor, Severus carrying most – if not all – her body weight. But after Farren groans involuntarily for the third time, he commands her to stop. And, turning a deaf ear to her weak protests, Snape lifts Farren into his arms.

"We are here, but I must put you down to summon the door."

Farren watches as he passes by three times with his eyes closed. She is on the verge of voicing her confusion when a door suddenly appears.

He lifts her again and they walk through the newly summoned door.

Farren isn't quite sure what she'd expected to be inside, but it surely hadn't been this. The room is large and laden with several different colored vials, and bubbling cauldrons propped on wooden workbenches, and an elevated sofa stowed in a corner.

Snape places her carefully onto the sofa.

"The damage is not too severe. I am capable of fixing it, but it might feel a little sore for a day or two. And," he hesitates, "you will have to stay here the night. Under my care."

"That's fine. As long as..." but Farren trails off.

"No one knows or asks questions," Snape finishes, sounding rather bitter.

She does not answer. But that seems to be answer enough for him and he turns away briskly.

"Wait!" Farren grabs his hand, desperate to keep him there longer.

When he turns back, Severus's eyes look fixedly at the hand touching his. She cannot determine whether this reaction is good or bad, but decides not to let go.

"Did you really find us because of Narcissa?" Farren asks quietly.

He shakes his head.

"And... are you going to modify my memory?"

Another slow shake of the head. "No."

She releases her hold.

After a second's pause, Snape steps back to a nearby cauldron.

Farren's head throbs where Malfoy had pulled at her hair. She is unbearably embarrassed for having been found by Snape in that position. Would he think her tarnished now? Or weak for crying? Farren feels as though she is. But it had all just been too much. The entire day was... still is.

Time passes. The hiss of the cauldron is soothing. She finds that by listening to the light clinking of the glass vials, the pain in her body subsides. Snape has to rouse her from a half-sleep when he returns.

He hands over a cup containing a watery substance within it. "Drink this."

The instant the hot liquid touches her tongue, Farren feels considerably better. It warms her throat and seems to spread throughout every vein and blood vessel.

"What is this?" she slurs. "Draught of Peace? Or a warming solution?"

"Earl Grey tea, actually," says Snape with a slightly curled lip.

"Ah." She peers back down at the mug in her hands. "Well it is... excellently brewed tea."

"You are utterly unfathomable." And to Farren's surprise, she sees the sincerity in Severus's face. "You have been sexually assaulted tonight. And now, barely an hour later, you are making jokes."

"All part of the charm, I suppose," she says with a weary smile.

Snape turns under the pretense of extracting a vial, but Farren catches the flash of teeth he attempts to suppress.

"I have to administer this to you every six hours." He checks his watch. "You may rest, if you so desire, but I will wake you at five o'clock."

"And where will you be in the meantime?"

These simple words are Farren's way of expressing her desire for his presence.

"I will be here." And he sits on a chair next to the sofa.

"You can –" All of a sudden, every word in her brain seems silly. How can she convey her gratitude? "I mean, you don't have to stay awake. There must be an alarm somewhere," looking about she spots a clock on the bedside table. "I can set it –"

"If I'd wanted to set an alarm, I would have. Go to sleep, Farren."

"Severus–"

"What?" He is beginning to look annoyed.

"Thank you."

For a split-second his eyes soften. The harsh lines on his forehead disappear and she sees him for what he truly is: a tortured teenaged boy. Nothing more and nothing less...

But the moment ends and Snape returns, defensive and angry. "And where was your _paramour_ tonight? Did he not have the decency to wait with you?"

"Don't you dare," Farren warns. "Don't you ever blame Sirius for the weakness and cruelty of other men! He is the greatest –"

Snape makes a snarling noise, hurtling himself out of the chair and toward her. And suddenly he's kissing her.

The kiss does not change. It doesn't soften in its progression. In fact, it becomes even more aggressive, as though they both intend to smother each other with their kiss. But it is passionate. Dear God, there is more passion in that one kiss than most people hope to have in their lives. Her hand reaches behind his neck in response, imploring him to press his body closer to hers. He groans softly. But it isn't enough. She wants more than this connection of lips. Sliding further down, Farren forces him to mount the sofa and his hands creep slowly up her stomach. They are so close. A little further and he would cup her, hold her completely and utterly under his power–

But then abruptly Snape breaks away from her, face contorted in self-revulsion.

"This... is not the right time," he says, still panting slightly. "You are tired and need rest." And, with a little shake of the head, he stalks to another side of the room, evidently not trusting himself enough around her.

After a few stunned moments, Farren lies back down onto the sofa. And as she lies there – not even entertaining the idea of sleep – Farren has a sort of epiphany. This... whatever it is with Snape would be the single strangest thing to occur in her life. She'd ride it out for all that it's worth, because she knows (though she isn't sure how) that it could never be recreated again. It would be forever unique, and remembered, and wholly irreplaceable.

The relationship is wrong, yes. It is disloyalty to Sirius and despicable. But truthfully, it doesn't feel like that at all because they are two entirely different things. Like two separate parts of her soul. God has made Farren this way. Made her into a walking contradiction. So can she really be blamed for working with what has been given to her?

All she wants is to live. It's as simple as that. She wants desperately to live life to its fullest potential. She wants to be fulfilled. She wants to be happy. Is that such a terrible thing?


	9. Sirius

Disclaimer: This chapter is the reason why the fanfiction is rated M

**Disclaimer: **This chapter is the reason why the fanfiction is rated M. There are sexual scenes and if you are not okay with that, do not read it.

And, on another note, I really do appreciate feedback of any sort. Even if it's criticism. Just make sure it's constructive criticism.

_**Sirius**_

Dear Sirius Ignatius Black,

Your father, brother, and I are going to Aunt Lucreita's house for the Winter Holidays. An extended invitation to you would be inadvisable, because she has yet to lift your banishment charm after last year's incident with the Christmas angels.

Walburga

_  
James reads the letter over Sirius's shoulder. He silently mouth's the words "Dear Sirius Ignatius Black" with something like disgust on his face._

"_Well," he says with a shrug. "I suppose it's better than 'Dear Offspring'."_

_Sirius socks James in the arm. "Shut up. What's yours, then? 'Dear Sex God and Quidditch Extraordinaire'?"_

"_No." Lupin grins down at the paper he'd managed to snatch out of James's grasp. "It says 'Dear Jamesy-kins'."_

"_Thanks a lot, Moony," James glowers, a definite flush creeping up his neck. _

"_But you know Mum and Dad always love having you around for the Holidays, Padfoot – Can't imagine why, _but_ they wish me to invite you."_

_Sirius doesn't answer at first. Then, "I think I'll have to pass you up on that offer. Number Twelve Grimauld Place might be enjoyable with the… right company."_

_James puts an arm around his friend, looking at the others in mock seriousness. "In other words, Sirius is ditching a few weeks at Potter Manor to shag Farren in every room of Number Twelve Grimauld Place."_

_They all laugh again, none louder than Peter._

"_Watch it Prongs," he warns, but half-jokingly. Sirius has come to realize that Farren wouldn't have minded talk such as this. In fact, she'd probably find it thoroughly amusing. "But I don't know. Grimauld Place is quiet large. Every room would be a challenge."_

"_Is The Sirius Black backing down?" James taunts._

_He smirks as only Sirius could. "Never."_

"_Very good. Oh and that does include Regulus's room, you know."_

"_What includes Regulus's room?" Farren asks as she sits beside him._

"_Nothing, my dear." Sirius tries to kiss her on the cheek, but Farren leans away playfully._

"_Good morning Evans," says James as Lily passes._

_She doesn't falter in her stride as she spits, "Sod off."_

"_Now why do we have to start off like that?" James deliberately_ _ignores the muffled snickers from Sirius, Farren, and Lupin._

_Lily stops angrily. "Because even when I am _that_ rude, you still don't get the message, Potter."_

"_Come on. Have a sit with us." And he gestures at the row of empty seats across the table._

_She opens her mouth for an irritated retort, but stops short. _

"_Very well," Lilly says to the table's utter surprise, James most of all._

_Is it Sirius's imagination or do her eyes flicker briefly toward Farren? An impetuous thought crosses his mind and he must suppress a smirk. Could his girlfriend be the source of Lilly Evans's on-going refusal of James and about every other boy at Hogwarts? He relishes the image._

_There is a slightly awkward pause after the red headed joins the group._

"_I've been meaning to ask you, Ren" Remus says, cutting through the silence. "Have you heard anything from Celia lately?"_

_Sirius knows why Lupin has such an interest in those affected by Voldemort and his allies. It is, of course, because his own life had been so altered due to one wrong turn with Fenrir Grey. _

_Farren answers, slightly confused by Remus's ongoing concern with her friend's progress._

_Sirius would not tell her Remus's secret. He could divulge certain things, such as their animagus forms. But never their purpose. No matter how far their relationship went, no matter how deeply enamored he became with Farren Graham, he would never jeopardize his friendship for her. And he feels quite certain that Farren would have understood._

"_What are you doing for the holidays," Sirius murmurs to her in a low voice._

_She raises an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"_

"_You are cordially invited to reside at the Black Family Mansion."_

"_And do Mamma and Papa Black know of my invitation?"_

"_Ha! An identified muggle-born in their house?" He shakes his head. "No, they don't know."_

_Farren grins in an aha-I've-caught-you sort of way. "So we'd be alone." And she leans in closer, whispering, "Is that why you have a stiffy right now?"_

_For a moment Sirius is shocked. But then he laughs, quickly regaining his composure. "You've caught me. But can I really be blamed? You are just so sexy, and beautiful, and…" He takes her hand from under the table and guides it in the _general_ direction._

_She permits this until the very last moment._

"_Where were you last night?" she asks._

"_What do you mean?" He cannot help but sound a little impatient. He attempts to inch her hand down further._

_Farren doesn't budge. "I mean I snuck into the Boys Dormitory and the four of you weren't there. Where were you?"_

_Last night had been full moon. They'd been in the Shrieking Shack and at Hogsmeade with Moony. _

_Farren smiles at his silence. "You're keeping something from me. Withholding information means no sexual favors."_

_She stands._

"_Ren you can't just leave me here," Sirius whispers pointedly._

_Her smile turns viscous. "Watch me." _

_And he does. Sirius watches her saunter away in a self-satisfied air, noting how magnificently shaped her bum is._

XXXXX

Farren tiptoes up the stone steps.

"Knox" she says to the illuminated wand before turning the doorknob.

For a moment she is blinded by the sudden darkness of the room. But then light slowly reveals itself by means of the moon, stars, and shinning constellations.

Very carefully, she moves into the bed with the luscious brown hair peeking out of it, positioning herself so that she straddles him.

Sirius stirs, opening his eyes and looking blearily up at her. "What –"

Farren shushes him and clamps a small hand over his mouth. "I'm risking expulsion for you, Black"

He pulls her hand away and says in a much quieter voice, "I'm sorry. It's just a tad disconcerting to wake up with you on top of me."

"I felt bad about leaving you hanging this morning… No punt intended."

Sirius sits up, forcing her to lie back into his lap. "Liar. That pun was very intentional and it hurt."

Farren giggles. "I was only being facetious." Her eyes do that trick and appear cat-like and feral.

She touches his face. It is rough with 5 o'clock shadow. The first kiss given is very chaste. A quick brush of lips. The second is deeper, and in the third his tongue darts quickly into her mouth.

In a shockingly fluid maneuver, Sirius rolls Farren onto her back.

He kisses the apples of her breasts and an unbidden excitement starts in her navel. She should stop him. She knows. She knows that everything is better after a very prolonged tease; that this is not the ideal place; and that people surround them. But she doesn't care. In that moment Farren is so tired of being the tease.

She feels small and helpless underneath him. A sensation of being utterly overwhelmed flutters through her as he slides a hand under a nightgown. But it is a good sort of overwhelmed.

He touches Farren with well practiced fingers, rubbing her with his thumb while still managing to leave soft kisses on her jaw line.

Farren tries very hard to remain silent. But the attempts are futile, and gasps sound every now and again. Her body is feverish. It is over-heating and becoming moist with sweat and other fluids. She wants – needs – something but doesn't know what.

Sirius. His hair is still sleep tousled, and those eyes are alight with lust– or perhaps something more. Oh, he is so beautiful. She wants to say his name and make him realize what he's doing to her, but cannot gather enough breath to.

Her pants are now coming quick and sharp. There is only a second to prepare for the release. Before she knows it, her back is arching and a stifled moan escapes her.

Farren's eyes open after a few moments recuperation.

Sirius smirks arrogantly.

"Shut up," she says, still a little breathless.

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, but I know what you're thinking."

He chuckles. "_Au contraire, ma petit_. I know what _you _are thinking."

She feels him still hard and ready underneath the sheets. The smirk leaves his face when she begins to massage him with her leg.

"I suppose it's only fair that I return the favor," Farren says, with fingers poised on the waistband of his trousers.


	10. I am Your Courtesan

I am Your Courtesan

**I am Your Courtesan **

"_Locomotor trunk_," Farren says to the decently sized suit case. It rises to follow her dutifully.

She meets Sirius in the common room and they walk down together to the Entrance Hall. It is crowded. Several students are hugging, saying goodbye, and promising to write letters they won't. Lately people have been taking extra care when parting. Unspoken is the fear that they might never see each other again.

The dungeon door opens and the sight of Severus Snape catches her eye.

"You go ahead, I forgot something."

Sirius nods and goes to catch up with Lupin, who peers curiously down at a small first year with shocking pink hair. The girl stumbles, nearly landing on the floor. Remus manages to grab her arm and bring her properly back to her feet. The contrast between them is almost laughable. The permanently peaky and grayish looking Lupin, and the screaming amount of color that is the first-year girl.

Farren strides purposefully toward the dungeon door when the boys are at a safe distance. Snape watches. She informs him – with her eyes – to follow. And just in case that isn't indication enough, Farren clasps his hand briefly while passing.

The spiraling dungeon steps lead into a hall of proudly erected suits of armors. The Slytherin common room is in a low-ceilinged area further down the corridor. Farren wonders how things might be if that were _her_ common room. The sorting hat had, in fact, once whispered into her ear that Slytherin would've made a good fit. And Farren hadn't protested all that much. Salazar Slytherin had been an intriguing man. How bad could his house be? But in the end the hat chose Gryffindor, for reasons Farren has yet to understand.

It's all luck. This entire thing – her life – it is all due to a series of chanced events. Look how easily things could have been different. She could be in the same house as Snape. They wouldn't be doing this charade. And she would never have known Sirius. That she is sure of. She is sure that, were the roles switched, Sirius would never have glanced twice at a Slytherin girl, no matter how eye-catching or different. This hurts to know.

Severus arrives and Farren is pulled out of her own head. "Hullo."

He gestures at her right side. "How does it feel?"

"Fine. Your potion was wonderfully made. I didn't even feel sore afterward. And there wasn't a bruise or anything. And..."

But Farren trails off, noticing that Snape isn't even listening. He isn't surveying her intensely like usual; nor is he paying attention at all. His eyes are wandering uncharacteristically to her hair, her lips, her hands, her legs. It is as though Snape wishes to memorize her.

Farren takes a few steps closer. "You don't have to settle on wanking off to the image of me, you know? Have I not made that clear enough yet?" Her heart is beating much faster than normal. "I'm willing to give you the real thing."

"You are willing to go behind your beloved Black's back?"

"I'm not cheating. It is two different parts of my life. Will you settle for that? For having only a part of me?"

Severus gives her a contemptuous look. "You think very highly of yourself, Farren. In your assumption that I need some sort of commitment or _love _from you." He leers. "Fucking you doesn't mean I want to hold hands."

She nods. But what she really wants to do is say something like, "I know who you are, Severus Snape. You are the eternally frightened and wounded child. This facade we both do, this pretense of assurance and security… I see past it… And isn't that beautiful?"

Despite everything he says, Snape had still chosen her. He could have noticed someone prettier, or leggier, or with bigger breasts. But he hadn't. There is a particular reason for that. Lucius had been right on one thing. It took something more to peek Severus's interest.

"How long will you be away for?" he asks.

"Until the third."

Snape doesn't say anything, but his lips tighten.

Not being able to contain herself, Farren kisses him quickly on the cheek. "You are so brilliant," she blurts out. And, blushing furiously, she rushes back up the steps and into the Entrance Hall.

XXXXX

" 'Bout time."

Farren takes a seat beside Sirius in the train compartment. "The express would have left if you'd taken much longer. You know the world doesn't stop for you." He is smiling.

"No, but it should." She stretches herself on the seat. "May I?"

He bows his head slightly and Farren rests her face against his lap.

Gently lacing locks of curls through his fingers, Sirius says, "Your hair never ceases to amaze me. I just don't understand how it could be so..."

"Large? Curly? Yeah, I get that a lot. My grandmother used to tell me I could hide small children in my hair. Charming woman, my grandmother. Always had a way with words…

"But you wait, Sirius. Once you get a glimpse of it in the morning, you won't like it that much."

He laughs. "What on Earth do you mean?"

"I mean that I look like a lion when I wake up with _this _–"she points bitterly "–on my head. Plus it gets in the way."

"Of what?"

"Sex," she says simply.

"What a nuisance for you and your sex life. However do you manage?"

Farren grins. "I find a sad enough bloke who will put up with me."

Several people come in and out of their compartment during the train ride. Including the Marauders, Grace, Alexia, as well as Frank and Alice (who acted revoltingly in love). But they leave eventually. Sirius declared he was hungry with an hour left to the ride, and went to fetch the trolley.

There is a knock on the door.

"Did you find it already– Oh. Hello Lilly."

The girl nods a greeting. "May I sit for a moment?"

"Be my guest."

Lilly seems to gather her thoughts before speaking. "You think very highly of yourself."

"What?" It is the second time Farren has been told this in the past couple hours, and she is quite affronted.

"Of your magical capability, I mean. Did you really think you could perform a memory charm successfully?"

Her heart stops. "I... You remember?"

"I couldn't for the first few days. I just had this massive headache– thanks for that by the way. But I do now."

Farren's lips have numbed. It is very difficult to form coherent words. And, after the third unsuccessful attempt, she gives up.

"I won't tell anyone."

"Why—" she clears her throat. "Why not?"

"Why should I?"

"But I don't understand. I tried to obliviate you..."

"Because it's the right thing to do. You haven't met many decent people in your life, have you?"

Farren laughs shakily. "No, I haven't actually."

Lilly smiles, and again it isn't pitying or sad.

And Farren cannot stop the words from spewing out of her mouth once more. "I think I understand why James is so bent on you."

"I beg you not to invoke that boy's name in my presence," Lilly says, wincing. "I have two blessedly Potter-free weeks."

Farren laughs but decides she'll have to work on that eventually.

The door slides open to reveal Sirius carrying a variety of sweets. He stops and, spotting the two girls together, grins boyishly.

"Hello ladies," he says, discarding the sweets unceremoniously.

Lilly stands. "I think we're almost at King's Cross. I should go back to my compartment."

"Leaving so soon?"

Lilly looks at him, taken aback by the dejection.

"…Yes," and she exits.

"Farren" Sirius says once the red-head is out of the compartment, "I think Lilly wants to shag you."

She laughs shrilly. "What? Sirius you are touched in the head."

"That's beside the point. Lilly Evans wants to have sex with you, and I think it should be arranged."

"Girls aren't lesbians when you want them to be."

"Ren if you ruin this for me, I'll never forgive you!"

They arrive at Kings Cross station shortly afterward. Sirius had reserved a cabbie to drive them through London. Farren quickly becomes bored of the ride and entertains herself by doing improper things at passing cars. Sirius also seems quite entertained by this.

Finally, they arrive at number twelve Grimauld Place. Sirius pays the driver (Farren blows him a parting kiss) and ushers her through the door.

Her eyes widen when she steps inside.

The staircase that runs through upper levels makes it apparent that the house is massive. And, aside from its sheer size, the entrance also gave a taste of the fancy decorative. With its impeccable wallpaper and the several portraits that peered snobbishly down from their frames, it is easy to tell this is a house of grandeur.

Farren herself comes from a decent amount of money but this is ridiculous...

"I forgot that your family was well off," she says, looking dubiously back at him. "It makes you suddenly all that more attractive."

But Sirius isn't smiling. Or laughing. The thoughts are practically written across his face (he never has been good at hiding emotions). Sirius is beginning to reconsider his choice of having come with Farren, of allowing her this glimpse of his life.

She takes hold of his hand. "Will I have to show myself around or are you going to take me to your room?"

Farren _would_ see this part of him. And she would reassure him that it made no difference.

A Serpent candelabra stares menacingly from on top of the doorway they pass through. Old gas lamps are the only source of illumination in what seems to be an endless amount of corridors. It looks quite easy to get lost in them. And, when they arrive in a little cove of woodened doors, Sirius enters the one dead center.

This room, unlike the rest of the house, is dressed in warm colors of red and gold. Many pictures line the dresser, depicting several variations of Sirius at Hogwarts with the other marauders. One even shows him with an enormous poster that flashed the words "GO GRYFFINDOR!" and James Potter in Quidditch robes beside him.

"Did you do the decorations yourself?"

He grins. "I made a few alterations last summer."

"And your mother allowed it?" she inquires, knowing the Black family's history.

"The charms are irreversible."

Farren plops onto the red covers, elongating her limbs in a tired stretch and yawning. Her sleep is still very fitful, and last night had been no exception. Her mind is weary and feels as though a headache may arise at any moment. But the fabric is so soft on this bed. Perhaps if Farren rested here, her sleep would be dreamless…

Sirius pounces on her from out of no where.

"What in the name of Merlin's beard are you doing?!" she shrieks, flitching violently in surprise.

He's laughing, harder still as her tirade of protests continue.

"You are mental! Do you know that? Who in the right mind attacks someone who is—stop laughing!"

"Your cheeks get very pink when you're cross. It's adorable."

She shoves him hard, getting furiously to her feet. "Don't patronize me. I'm not–"

"Farren, calm down. You look like you're about to burst a blood vessel."

She stomps to her trunk, boots making angry bangs with each step. "I wish to change my clothes. Show me to the restroom."

"You don't have to change in the loo—"

"No." She is being very childish, but cannot care. Maturity doesn't really exist anyway. "I'm not comfortable changing here."

"Stop being ridiculous. I was only playing around."

Farren flings the door open and steps out. But suddenly the floor is rushing towards her face. Or rather, she's falling.

"Forgive me Madam," drones an uninterested voice from the floor. It is coming from a very small, ugly animal.

"Kreacher!" Sirius looks livid as he helps Farren back up from the ground. "What do you think you're doing outside my door? Did _she_ tell you to spy on me?"

"My mistress was unaware of your stay here, young master."

"And we will keep it that way. I forbid you to communicate my stay to anyone, in any way. You hear me?"

The creature does not respond, and Sirius takes an ominous step toward it.

Farren reflexively puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him from doing harm.

The mounting anger is turned toward her. "Do you feel bad for him? Well don't. I bet he tripped you on purpose."

Farren doesn't like the way he's acting. "Let's just go back inside your room."

"Why are you taking his side!? DON'T YOU SEE HE'S MY MOTHER'S LAP-DOG! MY MOTHER, WHO WOULD GLADLY HAVE MUGGLE-BORNS LIKE YOU EXECUTED!"

"SIRIUS!" she says, voice much higher than usual.

The yelling stops abruptly. The Sirius she recognizes – the jovial, laughing marauder – reemerges. Only he isn't jovial now. He looks ashamed.

"Leave," he barks at the ugly animal.

It obeys the order, a slight skip in its step.

When they are alone the silence seems deafening after all the commotion.

Farren attempts to make her smile understanding. "Fancy giving me a tour?"

But even as Sirius speaks, telling jokes and adding stories (mostly pranks performed by yours truly) with every room of the house they visit; there is still a certain tension in his shoulders. And Farren, in her subtle but sometimes obnoxious way, gradually manages to ease that tension.

They reach a room with several relics and valuable items strewn about. Some of them are in glass protectors, and all have the same grandeur of the mansion.

She walks to a tapestry entitled The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Inspecting it more closely, dread spreads throughout Farren's body. "You're related to the Malfoys?"

Sirius nods looking, for the first time she can remember, uncomfortable. Not wanting to pry further, Farren averts her attention to the only window in the room. A green parakeet rests on the sill, ruffling its feathers silently.

"Oh," she moans, moving closer to the glass. "Are there many birds like this around here?"

"Sometimes… You really like animals, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Animals are brilliant." Farren glances briefly at him. "Don't you think so?"

Sirius shrugs. "Not as much as you, apparently."

"But don't you see? No human could _ever_ be that beautiful," she says, gesturing at the now air-born bird.

But Sirius still looks unconvinced. Knowing that arguing further would be futile, Farren moves on to one of the glass encased items. It is an ornate locket. With the engraved snake and intricate detail, Farren recognizes the beauty of the necklace as well.

"Do you like that?" Sirius asks, spotting her surveying the locket.

She nods, and he pulls out his wand.

"Evanesco."

The glass vanishes.

"That easy?" Farren asks, surprised.

"Only a Black could do it."

He waves a hand, indicating she should turn around.

The gold is very cold on her collar. It weights a surprising amount, and it is all Farren can do to keep from tumbling over. Sirius guides her to a full length mirror. Most people would be upstaged by the necklace and the strange elegance. But with her flashy blonde hair, Farren's appearance matches its dramatics.

But it is strange to see herself like this, with Sirius embracing her from behind and that glint in his eye. She looks like royalty, or perhaps a courtesan being doted upon by a rich admirer.

"I want you to wear it for the day," he says.

And again, Farren recognizes his games. The thought of his muggle-born girlfriend wearing a treasured Black family heirloom is greatly appealing to Sirius. And she understands. If she could've had some similar revenge on her own family, Farren would have done it in a heart beat. So she agrees, knowing that he is using her slightly.

"Now come on. I want to show you a couple more things."

They do not meet the house-elf on the way back down to the lowest ground of Grimauld Place. Farren thinks this very lucky; because God knows what it would do if it spotted the necklace that hung heavily from her neck. Sirius takes her past the corridor of doors, past the sitting room, and even past the basement. They stop in a dingy place that appeared, except for the obviously missing vehicles, to be a garage. Instead, it seemed to be used as a sort of storage area.

"What you are about to see" Sirius says gravely, "is probably the most important thing in my life up to date. Try not to get too excited, though, because she is a very delicate being.

He touches a lump that rests against the garage wall. A cloth has been thrown over what could possibly be the very large cage of an animal or beast.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, Sirius," Farren snaps impatiently, beginning to feel apprehensive. "I'm ready."

With a dramatic flourish, he whisks the cloth away, revealing a hot red motorcycle.

Farren bursts into peels of laughter. "A motorbike?" she gasps. "That's what all that was for? A _motorbike_?"

"Ah, but she is much more than a mere motorcycle!" Sirius declares, truly smiling for the first time since their arrival. "Notice the smooth sheen of the red paint, and the gleam of metal. I was flying it round Diagon Alley once last summer, and –"

"Flying?" Farren wipes tears from her eyes. "Now that's something to boast about."

"Well what else is it supposed to do?"

She laughs once more. "Sirius, my dear, you are so hopeless that it's actually become quite endearing."

He straddles the bike. "Get on."

"Ooo," Farren mocks, moving to sit behind him. "I'd no idea you were so dangerous, Mr. Black."

The motor roars into life when Sirius turns the handle bar in his hand. "Dangerous is my middle name."

And then they're zooming out of Grimuald Place. Soaring higher, and higher, until she believes they will surely fly through a cloud soon. Then Sirius pulls out of their vertical ascent, and she clings to him for dear life. The cold is so unbearable that Farren risks loosing balance and falling over, to extract her wand. And, after her warming charm is placed on both of them, the ride becomes considerably more enjoyable.

Farren lets out a noise that is half-scream and half-howl. She is flying through the London sky on a motorcycle, a very muscled and handsome man in front of her. She is young. Her hair trails behind her in a wild array of curls. _This_ is living.

But Sirius is now steering them back toward the Earth, into a secluded foresty area with a creek running through it.

"Whoo!" she shrieks, all dignity forgotten. "Sirius, that was…!" But words fail her and Farren scrambles out of the bike, adrenaline pumping madly through her veins.

Sirius is beaming, eyes bright. And she attacks him with an over excited kiss that sends them both hurtling to the ground.

But then something suddenly tightens around her neck, chocking the breath from her body. "Ah!" Farren gasps, clawing at the necklace. "It–hurts–!"

And just as stars begin to burst through her vision, the pressure lifts. Sirius holds the locket in his hands. "You alright, Ren?"

"Yes," she croaks, throat still raw.

Balling it into his fist, Sirius throws the locket in the general direction of his motorcycle.

"What?" he says to Farren's shocked expression. "We can pick it up later."

A small smile plays upon her lips.

He has chosen her. The moment he'd discarded that locket so unconcernedly, Sirius had chosen Farren over his revenge, his hate. And she knows how difficult that can be. She herself has yet to find the strength to. It is sometimes much harder for others to be liberated of their anger... Farren thinks of the hook-nosed boy she's left behind at the castle. They – Farren and Snape – would have to figure out some other way to conquer their hate.

"I have one more thing to show you," Sirius says as he helps her stand.

"Don't tell me, a flying Porsche?"

"No, I think you'll like this much more than a flying Porsche…"

And then he steps away from Farren, grinning. The adrenaline must still be in her system, because she is almost certain that Sirius is glowing ever so slightly. But as the glow strengthens, Farren realizes it isn't adrenaline at all.

Sirius's head is elongating, and his body shrinking. Fur suddenly sprouts from his black hair, covering him in it entirely. His hands and feet are suddenly clawed—

And a few short seconds later Snuffles, the bear-like black dog, stands before her.

Farren cries out. "You—_you're_ Snuffles! You're an animagus!"

The dog wags its heavy tail. Then it transforms back into a self-satisfied looking Sirius.

"I can't believe you haven't told me sooner!"

"Well I had to know I could trust you. I _am_ an illegal animagus."

"But this is brilliant!" Farren exclaims. "You can teach me how to do it. I've been trying for ages—"

"Ren, this wasn't just a little fly-by operation we decided to do. It's dangerous."

She waves a dismissive hand. "I know, I know. I've read all about it. I even—Wait what do you mean by 'we'."

"James, Remus, Peter, and I. We're all anamagi."

Farren takes a deep breath to contain her excitement. "You are going to explain everything to me."

And Sirius does. She listens to him avidly for hours as they lay in the long grass beside the creek. He tells her that, among other things, to legally become an animagus you had to be trained for over a year.

"And that's just rubbish. So we decided to take things into our own hands."

Farren never has set much store by the rules, so she doesn't mind the over-look.

But she scoffs when he mentions Peter's form. "He _would_ be a rat." She wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I can't see why you're friends with him. He's pathetic."

"Ren, hasn't anyone ever told you to hold your tongue?" Despite the harsh words, Sirius says this lightly.

Farren sighs. "The sad part is I already _do_ hold my tongue a lot."

They talk more, and eventually end up kissing again. But it's a different kiss than before. It is full of unspoken questions and meaning. And as he begins to unbutton her blouse, Farren forces herself to say, "Sirius, I've... never done this before."

He stops. "Really? What about that bloke you dated sixth year—Nathaniel Brotus?"

Nathaniel had been a moron. He'd tried to get in her pants once when he was piss drunk, and Farren had kicked him in the tenderest of places.

She shakes her head. "It didn't work out."

Sirius passes a thumb lightly against her bottom lip. "I don't think I'll ever fully understand you, Farren Graham. No matter how well I think I know you, you will ultimately surprise me yet again."

She snorts. "That makes two of us."

He smiles down at her. And, under the half-moon and constellations, Sirius unzips her jeans and then works on his own. Farren watches, an uncontrollable amount of emotion humming through her. After all this waiting, all this haughty evasion, and after having to endure every male whose ever forced himself upon her body... She is giving in. She is giving the last part of the purity she's clung so desperately to...

And then Sirius enters her, whispering soft comforts into Farren's ear when she feels the first shock of pain.


	11. Desire

Desire

**Desire**

There is something to be said for those houses owned by dark wizards: they are very cleverly built. The Black mansion is riddled with secrets just waiting to be discovered. It excites Farren, who has always had a certain weakness for adventure and novelty. She is deeply engrossed by the many books found from within Sirius's quarters pertaining to the anamagi form.

Since Farren had first learned of the possibility of anamagi year ago, she had tried desperately to master it. But always was a part which she would fall short on: the final stage. It would seem _that_ stage, unlike the advanced Transfiguration McGonagall had taught her in their after school practices, could not be learned.

"Farren, these things take time. You can't just snap your fingers and get it. You'll eventually understand, but that _has_ to come on its own. If forced this can have dire consequences," Sirius tells her every time she pesters him.

"Just – one more time – explain to me precisely what it entails."

He sighs tiredly. "You have to be in the right mind set. You think of who you are, of what it is that defines you. Then – and this is the hard part – you convince yourself to believe the body you are in is nothing more than a vessel for your soul. It is true that physical appearance may have helped shaped you in some way before, but in that moment it is simply a vessel. Something easily morphed or changed, while you still maintain a sense of self."

Farren makes disgruntled sound. "You sound like a bloody after school special."

"Just be patient. Trust me, you'll get it soon enough."

Farren is many things. Patient isn't one of them.

Seeing her obvious unhappiness, Sirius opts for a change of subject. "Will Lily be coming tonight for Christmas?"

Farren had been keeping up a correspondence with Lily throughout the break. She is amazed at how much they connected, how easily they slipped into a friendship. And the friendship is different than what she has with Celia. Lily is an equal to Farren. Celia is almost a project, someone to improve.

"Yes. I convinced her James would maintain a distance of ten feet at all times."

He gives her a look. "Ren, you know James couldn't hold that promise in a million years."

She rises from his lap to inspect the reflection in the mirror. As she had warned Sirius in the train, Farren's hair is a mane of disarrayed curls. "Yes, but I think we can manage to keep James's arrogance to a respectable level for just one night."

"Watch it," he warns. "You know he's my best mate."

"Indeed, and he's my friend as well. But you cannot deny he's a total prat around Lily."

Sirius remains silent, knowing an objection would be petty.

"So I have a plan to fill the boy up with so much booze that he forgets he's even talking to Lily Evans, the love of his life. Then Evans will see the real James, realize he isn't all that bad, and they'll ride happily off into the sunset."

Farren waits, certain Sirius will praise her brilliant plan. But instead he only looks moderately puzzled by her. "Why are you doing all this?"

She smiles and knows it makes her look ten years younger than she really is. "Because I can. Now show me where your parents stash the rum."

They spend the rest of the day preparing for the party. Somehow Sirius finds a way to make putting up Christmas Angels into a sexual affaire. He would press himself against her from behind, encasing her in the warmth of his body and over-coat. And then he'd lightly press his lips to her neck. This, of course, distracts Farren several times, and the decorations take much longer than they should have. She reprimands him for this.

But after Farren tames her hair as best she can, and puts on a simple red dress, they are ready. The first marauder to arrive is exactly on time. Peter compliments the decorations, and says generic things he knows will not get him in trouble. Farren is struck dumb by how frightfully dull the boy really is.

To cure her boredom she brings Peter up to the horrid display of house-elf heads on the wall. She watches as his face winces in disgust at the sight and smell.

"What do you think of them?" she inquires.

He jumps at being addressed. Then his watery gaze searches frantically for the right answer to please Farren. "They are… l-lovely," he sputters.

"You think so? Hmm. I suppose, for me personally, the image of their decapitated and rotting corpses lying around somewhere sort of detracts from their loveliness—"

"Always cracking jokes," Sirius says to Peter with a forced chuckle, pulling her aside in a vice grip. "Play nice, Ren. The poor kid looks like he's about to wet himself."

Farren smirks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The door bell rings just then, and she slips away before he can speak again.

It is James, accompanied by Lupin. She initiates the plain immediately, hading them both drinks and taking one for herself. And by the time Lily shows up, Farren herself is feeling quite light-headed.

"Lily!" she exclaims, flinging her arms around the much taller girl. "I'm so happy you came."

"Gladly. I'd do anything to get out of that bleeding house." She steps inside, shaking the snow from her fiery hair. "Petunia has been especially horrid now that she's got a new boyfriend. She seems to think he's a real catch, though I personally can't determine which chin I should look at—"

"Woops," Farren says, giggling after she spills a little of her drink. "Sorry, love."

"Alright there?" Lily peers down at her friend bemusedly.

"Of course! Come on."

Farren pulls her through the entrance and into the room that houses the gigantic Christmas tree. Some presents are pilled haphazardly under it, and Lily adds a few more.

The Beatles (Farren's choice of music) are playing from the retro-style speakers. It is either the influence of alcohol, or the presence of her friends; but Farren feels a little giddy. And in a burst of that giddiness, she does surprisingly graceful and well-trained twirl from the tips of her toes.

"Where did you learn ballet?" Lily asks, watching as Farren does yet another pirouette.

"My father used to fancy the idea of me becoming his perfect, demure little doll. He made me take dance, piano, French, singing, and art lessons... Come to think of it he would even dress me like a doll."

This time the spin is a lot sloppier and Farren trips over her own feet, landing flat on her arse.

"Needless to say—" she rubs her bum "— Papa gave up rather quickly. As Madam LeFarge would tell me," and Farren screws up her features in an imitation of the former French instructor, " 'Ze iz 'opeless!' "

Lily frowns a little. "Ren, that's completely depressing."

Farren, now slumped on the floor, smiles at the ceiling. "It's funny."

"You know, this muggle band of yours is quite good," Sirius says, joining her on the ground.

"I'd hope so, considering they're the biggest thing since Elvis Presley."

He knits his brow in confusion. "Who?" But he doesn't wait for an answer and continues, murmuring, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Very much."

"I'd like to give you your first present."

"First?" Farren asks. "As in more than one?"

He nods. "Two."

"You bastard, now I feel my gift's inferior."

They laugh. "Trust me, the first one is just as much for me as it is for you."

But as Farren reaches out a hand for the present, Sirius pulls away. "But first you need to promise me you'll be nicer to Peter."

She rolls her eyes. "I wasn't _that_ bad…"

"Ren, you showed him a bunch of decapitated house-elves just to watch him squirm."

"Okay, okay" she says ungraciously. "I'll be… nice."

As she had suspected, the gift is lingerie. It is black lace, with dark blue satin bows. Though it is quite lovely, it appeared to push up breasts Farren cannot remember possessing.

"Putting this on will be my second present," she says, grinning. Then, spotting the tag, "Is this French?"

"Yeah, I imported it from France."

Her eyes widen. "But that must of cost a fortune."

Sirius shrugs. "I inherited loads of money in my sixth year—"

"Well don't waste it on me, you idiot!"

"Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry," and Farren smiles, realizing she had sounded quite harsh. "But you can spend your money on better things than buying me expensive lingerie. If you hate it here so much, why don't you get a new place?"

He considers this. "Do you really think I can get my own flat?"

"Of course. You are legally an adult now. You can do whatever the hell you want."

Sirius looks rather excited. "Do you know, I think I just might."

"Good, I'll help you look around while we're here." Then she smiles impishly again. "Now give me my other present."

James stumbles into them. "I'm pissed," he states.

"Yes, you are. And I think now's a good time to gather round the fire and exchange presents."

Farren calls everyone back. She notes happily that Lily is enjoying herself. The only issue is that she is talking to Lupin rather than James.

The minutes trickle by in an array of clichéd wrapping paper. There are a few gag gifts thrown into the real ones. Peter, to Lily's puzzlement, receives a wheel of cheese that no one claims to having sent.

"Who gave me this?" Lily asks, holding up a book entitled: Why I never felt at home: A Muggle-Born's Memoir.

James raises a tentative hand. "I did."

She looks momentarily astonished, then forces her face into neutrality. "Thank you," she says quietly, averting her eyes.

"Here we are. Present number two." Sirius handles the box in his hands awkwardly, as though the thing inside is very fragile.

She shoots him a suspicious glance. If Farren opens the box and a hundred pixies fly out, there would be hell to pay.

But a hundred pixies don't fly out. Instead a very tiny and furry bundle lies curled in one of the box's corners, asleep. It raises its delicate head, squinting a little.

It's a kitten.

Farren gasps, and cups the animal gently in her palm.

Sirius watches her apprehensively. It is clear he has high hopes for her gift. "She's a Kneazle. They're a lot like cats, except smarter. And they have spots. Do you see…?"

Yes, now she does see the black spots that give the animal the impression of a small cheetah.

Farren tears her eyes away to gaze speechlessly at Sirius. "I—I…"

He laughs. "Are you actually at a loss for words? Well this is historical!" But then his smile vanishes when her face contorts. "Ren?"

And then she cannot hold back any longer, and promptly bursts into tears. "This is the best gift anyone has ever given me," Farren sobs. She is immensely glad for the influence of alcohol, because how else could she explain this tomorrow?

"You are the strangest drunk I've ever met," Sirius mutters, shaking his head.

She laughs and soon enough, the tears dry up.

"What are you going to name her?"

There's only a moments hesitation. "Pandora." Then she brings the kitten close to her face. "Do you agree with that?"

She swipes playfully at Farren's nose, then licks it.

"You know the saying that owners will look like their pets?" James asks, stroking the creature gently. "Well she looks like you."

Pandora stomps around the floor, going to each member of the circle in turn. She generally has a good reaction. Purring for Lily, or rubbing her nose against Sirius's leg. But when she reaches Peter, the kitten's fur shoots up and she starts hissing madly.

"No, Pandora. That's not a nice thing to do." Farren scoops the still spitting cat into her arms, trying to suppress the grin when she remembers her promise to Sirius.

"You're right, James. She even acts like Ren." Lily says.

James looks comically pleased and surprised at being in agreement with Lily Evans for probably the first time in his life.

"Are you calling me a bitch?" Farren asks lightly.

"No, not generally. But you are quite… vocal."

Farren nods and shrugs.

Pandora takes an interest in her curls, and begins to chew on them. Everyone watches in silence. That is, all except for Lily, who is gazing at James with a slight crease between her eyes.

Farren has the urge to grab Lily and say, "Give in already!" But secretly she admires the girl's resistance. Farren had almost easily accepted the fate of her desire (or rather, her desires). She had recklessly fed her infatuation with Severus, and now here she is. Stuck. But then again she is also quite certain that, given the option, she would not have chosen differently. Even now, with him miles and miles away, Snape challenges her. Farren sees him in her minds-eye, with his head bowed slightly as he studied her closely, a single eye-brow raised. _Go on_, the imaginary Snape implores.

We all want so much. Sometimes Farren is struck by how much desire and yearning surrounds her. At how much is suppressed. And still everyone keeps up this silly pretense of indifference. The truth is that all of us – even the broken ones – want so fiercely that we feel as though we may go mad with the need.

Lily looks up and catches Farren watching. She feels a sudden thrill of horror as those penetrating green eyes give her silent messages.

_Someone knows my secret. She has seen me vulnerable, powerless, young._

But then something connects in Farren's mind, a puzzle piece that slides into place.

_And now I know _her_ secret. Her desire._


	12. The Dark Mark

The return trip to Hogwarts is pelted by hordes of merciless rain

**Author's Note: **I had a lot of trouble with this one. I initially wrote the entire thing and really liked it, but technology went ape shit on me and deleted the file. And, let me tell you, loosing something you wrote and having to rewrite it is the _worst_! You keep comparing them in your head. You're like "That sucks! I so wrote this better last time! I have no idea what it was that I wrote--BUT I KNOW IT WAS BETTER THAN THIS!" But I've been told by others that it's fine. Perhaps it's just me being paranoid. And, by the way, to clear up some confusion, whenever I italicize an entire section, that is because it is in somebody else's perspective than Farren (usually either Snape or Sirius).

**The Dark Mark**

The return trip to Hogwarts is pelted by hordes of merciless rain. The trek from Hogsmeade Station to the thestral-carried carriages had never seemed so long. Farren is unbearably cold, but apparently the atmosphere does not think it cold enough for snow. Sirius fixes this problem by raising his wand at random and freezing the rain, making it appear as though they were both inside an odd life-size Christmas globe.

They had left Grimmauld Place a day early in order to help Sirius move into the very small, cheap flat located in the outskirts of London. Farren had been the one to secure the space, using mostly charm (and little magic) on the landlord. There hadn't been much to pack. Farren and Sirius departed rather quickly on the motorbike, leaving behind a note that read: _Eat pixie droppings – Love Sirius_; as well as a surprise in the stew Kreacher had been cooking for his mistress's return (hint: it was pixie droppings).

When they finally reach the carriages from Hogsmeade, Farren feels that peculiar urge to touch the skeletal thestrals. To her shock, Sirius stretches out a hand and begins to pat one with a grin.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" he says, looking up at her with perverse humor in his gaze.

"Yes."

As Sirius and Farren both look at each other with a new kind of scrutiny, an odd moment passes between them. They silently acknowledge the dark connection of their pasts, thinking the same question and not speaking a word.

Farren smiles, realizing how typical it is of her to pick the twisted ones. Even when she thinks she has chosen a shallow, insubstantial, and sheltered bloke, he turns out to be quite a bit more than that. In fact, he turns out to be deliciously haunted and wonderful.

They clamber into the carriage, keeping huddled together for warmth. Farren, as is her custom, stares fixedly into the Forbidden Forest. The forest has always mesmerized her. She often finds herself fantasizing of running naked through the trees, leaping through fallen branches and feeling the adrenaline from within her change the very person she is. She isn't precisely certain as to why she has this fantasy. It has something, she believes, to do with freedom. Farren becomes rather excited when she spots movement in the forest, certain she has just glimpsed the centaur herd. But Sirius quickly dismisses this, saying it must have been her imagination.

"The centaurs never come this close to the castle," he says, pulling Farren closer to him in an attempt to distract her from thinking further on it.

But it doesn't work and she decides that, no matter what Sirius says, it _had_ been a centaur.

Entering the illuminated Entrance Hall, Farren feels a rush of fondness for her school. She has grown rather attached to Hogwarts over the years. She often thinks of it as a living being, a sort of untamable pet that changes by mood or will. And though she returns to her stoically beautiful mansion every summer, Farren likes to think her life has predominantly been spent at Hogwarts. And Farren hopes that when she looks back on these years, she'll think of the memories had within these portrait clad walls. She hopes to remember the Christmas dinners spent with Dumbledore, rather than the ones spent alone with her third wine glass in one hand and a letter of bullshit apology from her father in the other.

Looking about at the arriving students, Farren instantly spots Lily and smiles widely.

"Hullo my fiery vixen!"

Lily, already accustomed to her oddities, ignores the new nickname and speaks in a hurried manner. "Your friend Celia Parkinson is back. She's been asking for you."

All the light airiness inside Farren leaves. "Where is she?"

"In the Great Hall, I think. Get to her as soon as you can, Ren. They're eating her alive."

Farren does not ask who "they" are. She knows and the knowledge makes her strides much quicker than normal

But even as she makes her speedy way through the oak doors, Farren feels slightly cheated. It is not that she doesn't miss Celia. In fact she'd felt pangs of sorrow whenever the girl had been mentioned or cropped up in conversation. But to have to deal with the emotional baggage of her return… that Farren could do without.

But pushing aside these selfish thoughts, she takes a deep breath and turns to the Gryffindor table.

A familiar brunette is sitting, surrounded by several other female bodies who stare avidly at her. When Farren gets close enough, she hears Celia's small but persistent tone.

"—Like I told Alexia before. I'm fine. Really, I am. I don't want to talk about it."

All ill feelings are banished instantly. There is that soft sound that has been amiss from Farren's life for over a month. The girl who had been her first ever real friend, almost the first human being she'd ever really cared for.

"I am very cross with you," she whispers into Celia's ear.

The head spins with dizzying velocity. "Ren!" she exclaims and wraps her arms tightly around the girl. "And why would you be cross with _me_?"

"You left me here in this jungle to fend for myself," she mutters. Then Farren makes her eyes go wide and innocent. "Alone, small, and with no one to write naughty notes to."

"Or push into lakes," Celia adds.

"Yes, that too," Farren says with a laugh. And then she attempts to pull Celia from the seat. But, as she had stated before, Farren is rather small and her desperate pulling shows no avail. Celia stands on her own, giggling at her friend.

They make their way out of the Great Hall and eyes follow. Lily had been very right. They feed off of Celia's misery, undoubtedly noticing her weight loss and over all disheveled appearance. _They're like parasitic leaches_, Farren thinks with contempt, almost snarling at a nearby second year.

Initially their walk through the castle is rather awkward. Farren wants desperately to tell Celia of all that has happened in the past month, but knows doing so would be quite egotistical. Celia has just been through an ordeal. She wants to talk about it, doesn't she? Or perhaps she doesn't. Perhaps she wants some sort of distraction…

Farren stops to look at Celia seriously and decides there is only one way to get an answer. "If you want to talk about what's happened, I will listen endlessly and without interruption. But there is no need. I won't judge you, no matter what you say."

Celia sighs in relief. "The truth is I really don't want to think about it anymore. I've spent too much time stuck inside my house, with nothing else to do but join in the mourning. Why do people insist on "talking through it" and "sharing our feelings"? It's all a load of poppy-cock. I feel just as shitty as I did before, no matter how many times I voice my bloody concerns. And anyway I much rather hear what's been going on around here… Is that a horrible thing to say?"

Farren smiles. "No, it isn't horrible." Then she examines a curl and says nonchalantly, "Well, I shagged Sirius Black."

"You didn't!?" Celia squeals. "I never thought you two would last."

"Thanks," Farren says, grinning. This reaction is, of course, exactly what she wants.

"Is he any good?"

She tells Celia everything. From the new group of friends she finds herself in, to the developing friendship with Lily Evans (If Farren is not mistaken, Celia looks quite jealous when relating this), her plans to become an Animagus, and how shagging Sirius had been.

Well, alright, she doesn't tell Celia everything. Snape is notably kept out. But Farren doesn't think she'll ever tell anyone about him. What she has with Severus… It is beyond that of words. It is based solely upon meaningful glances, movements and actions that they must each trust the other can understand. They never speak reassurances that – really – they need each other, no declarations of love. And it is so exhilarating to know that you could be wrong at any moment. Because each time Severus touches her or steals a glance, Farren is flooded with a blissful reassurance that she feels could conquer any uncertainty.

Celia and Farren bump into a large group of Slytherins when they reach the hall of moving staircases. The Slytherins also feed off of Celia's misery, though in a different way than the others. They taunt her and shove Farren hard in the shoulder. She hears Bellatrix say something like, "Why so sad, Parkinson? Your family should be proud that we got rid of that squib brother of yours!"

"They think it was her," Celia says, once the Slytherins had been chased away by a cold and scathing remark from Farren. "Bellatrix Black. They think she sent the dementor."

Peering back up at the Slytherins, Farren sees something that sucks the breath from out of her lungs: Severus Snape speaking to Luscius Malfoy, smirking as the boy whispers something into his ear. And there beside him stands Bellatrix.

"Oh, Ren—" Celia says when she catches the expression on Farren's face. "You know I don't think of Sirius as a Black. He has nothing to do with Bellatrix. I know that, don't worry."

But that isn't why Farren feels as though the Earth is dropping from beneath her feet. She already knows that family members are nothing more than the people with whom a person shares feeble and unimportant ties to. The Black family is nothing more than a badge of Sirius's strength and courage. She knows that.

No, it is the sight of _him_, standing in a cluster of people Farren recognizes as would-be — if not present — Death Eaters. What is far worse is the fact that Snape looks more comfortable than Farren can ever remember seeing him. He looks at home as he laughs with the boy that had nearly broken her—

"I know," Farren says to Celia, sounding empty even to herself.

She cannot understand why this reality hits her with such force. It should have been obvious! Of course he is friends with them. All the brilliant Slytherins were sucked into that circle. And God knows Snape is more brilliant than even than precious Lucius.

"Are you okay? You look a bit… peaky."

She imagines Snape towering over a faceless victim, his wand raised and hate consuming his unknowable eyes. She watches as a smile curls those permanently sarcastic lips as he murmurs the curse. _Avada Kedavra._

Would he have enjoyed the sensation of killing? Of holding complete power over another human life at the tips of his fingers? Of taking that life?

"What did Sirius get you for Christmas?"

"A kneazle," Farren says through numb lips.

Celia becomes excited. "Oh, that's wonderful! They're really rare. What's its name?"

"Pandora."

She laughs. "You would, Ren. While other people name their pet's Spot or Fluffy, you go for a mythological connotation."

All of a sudden Farren cannot stand to be there any longer. She feels a pressing in her chest that demands she get away immediately. She cannot be around Celia and her optimism. She cannot be around people.

"I have to go," she says wildly. "I… forgot to finish the Transfiguration homework."

Celia shoots her a simultaneously fond and weary look. "You'd forget your own head if it wasn't attached to your body."

Farren laughs and it sounds a little insane. "I know. I'm so s-stupid." And, hating herself, she dashes up the marble steps, leaving Celia alone and confused. But Farren has never quite gotten the hang of moving staircases. For a long while all she can do is run in hopeless circles, searching frantically for the common room. She stumbles over herself and a portrait calls, "Watch yourself now, girly. Wouldn't want you to break that pretty little neck, would we?"

"Where's the Fat Lady?" she barks at the man. "How do I get to her?"

Looking taken aback, the portrait points and gives her directions.

And soon enough Farren is shutting the door to the mercifully empty Girls Dormitory. She throws her school bag in the general direction of the four-poster bed, misses, and hears something crack. Going to her knees with more exasperation than is necessary, Farren discovers a broken ink bottle on what looks suspiciously like her Transfiguration essay. Karma is, indeed, a bitch.

And then she spots something else peeking from out of her bag. It is a small piece of parchment with very few words written on it.

It reads:

_Meet me in the room that I took you to on the night of Celia's departure._

She does not need a signature to know who the letter belongs to. The unnatural frankness speaks for itself. Farren rubs her palms deep into her closed eyelids, as though trying to squeeze the thoughts out of her brain. Colored dots burst through her vision as she remembers the Slytherin which had bumped into her while Bellatrix had heckled Celia. She'd thought nothing more of it until now. It seems Snape had urgently needed to give this note to her. In fact, Farren wouldn't be surprised if she found out it had been he who suggested teasing Celia, in order to get close enough.

She will go, of course. Farren will go to the room where Snape had cured her after Malfoy – his friend – had attacked her. She will go because the truth is that she still wants him. She still stupidly, _stupidly,_ believes in him.

XXXXX

"You need to cut the daisy roots more finely," he says. "Here, let me show you."

Severus is being a lot gentler tonight when correcting her potion making. But this, rather than being a comfort, makes Farren appear even more agitated in contrast. When she accidentally snags her index finger on the knife for the second time that night, Snape puts down his copy of the Advanced Potion Making textbook in annoyance.

"What has happened?" he asks wearily. "Why are you so… reserved?"

"I'm not reserved," she says, sucking the blood on her finger. "It's just that I was thinking today and…"

"What?" he snaps when Farren hesitates.

"Did you know Bellatrix set that dementor on Celia's brother? I remember what you told Luscius that night. That she hadn't returned from a duty for the Dark Lord… Did you know?"

Snape studies her for a moment before saying, "I knew she was on a job—" Farren's breath catches in her throat "— but no. It was not my understanding that the task included attacking a thirteen year-old boy."

With mounting desperation, Farren realizes his words do nothing in calming her. An unbidden eye flickers briefly down toward Severus's left forearm. He notices and jerks his arm away from her gaze. But, catching himself mid-motion, he lowers it.

"Are you wondering whether I have been branded," Snape asks in his softest, silkiest, and most dangerous voice.

There's no help for it. "Yes."

"And would that finally be enough to send you running? Or does the idea of a mark that represents my own self-damnation excite you?"

"No!" she shrieks in horror.

"TO WHICH QUESTION?"

"TO BOTH, YOU BASTARD!"

Snape opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again before finally settling on a throaty noise that sounds like a growl. He looks fixedly past Farren, as though she isn't there at all. She notices a muscle in his jaw jutting out as if it attempts to withhold his anger.

With a sigh, Farren falls into the chair behind her. "I wish it were enough to send me running, Severus. I really do. Things would be a lot easier. But it isn't and I still…" but when she turns back to him, she is – as always – distracted by those eyes. They are even more captivating than usual. With a shock Farren realizes she's never been quite this close to him before.

"Your eyes," she says without meaning to.

Snape raises a single brow. "Yes?"

They are the darkest shade of blue Farren has ever seen. A thick ring of black surrounds the slightly lighter iris. It is easy too see how one could – upon first glance – mistake the coloring.

Farren suddenly shoots up from her seat, going on tiptoe-toes to reach his lips. That is another thing she had failed to notice before. Snape is actually rather tall. This discovery is not nearly as pleasant as the other. It takes a great deal of effort to kiss , considering Farren had stopped growing by the age of eleven.

"This," Snape says, "could be a problem."

"Well it isn't _my_ fault. You're hardly bending your neck," Farren sniffs, defensive of her vertical deficiency.

"I meant no offense. I was simply stating my concern for your comfort."

She snorts. "That's rich. Severus Snape concerned with anyone but himself? I don't believe it."

He suddenly spins Farren around so that she faces the chair once again. And, before the room even has a chance to stop swaying, Snape is pushing back onto the seat. "Sit down and put that tongue of yours to better use," he says with tolerant amusement.

_Snape watches Farren as she situates herself on the wooden chair. He notes the hands gripping so tightly to the edge of the seat that her knuckles appear white. She is nervous._

_Severus reaches for her hand and turns it right-side up. Her skin is extraordinarily pale, though with a slight pink undertone that reminds him of a new-born baby, or perhaps a porcelain doll. It gives the impression of something pure and untouched—which in some ways, Farren is. He thinks of the crude manner in which she speaks and acts. A manner that only differs from the bluntness of a child in its wittiness._

_Farren is so candid, so impulsive and uncalculating. She is everything he is not, and Snape now understands what had initiated their attraction. It had been the admiration of opposites, the respect one must have for the person who completely counters their way of living. But he likes to think it runs a little deeper than that now. He believes it to be more than a simple case of "opposites will attract"._

_Severus touches the branching blue vein on Farren's wrist. It stands out rather nicely on her skin. And when he finds the pulse, he relishes in its frantic pace. Farren wrenches herself free of his grasp, embarrassed of the way Snape affected her so. She blinks at him, chewing her bottom lip._

_He smirks. "Why is your heart beating so fast, Farren?"_

"_Because you touched me," she says._

"_Very well," he said, rising to his full height._

"_Where are you going?"_

_He gives the chair a quick once-over. "This cannot be the most opportune place for our particular activities. The sofa will be much more accommodating."_

_But Farren stops him abruptly and, before Snape can do anything, she yanks the sleeve of his robes..._

_There it is, gleaming against his sallow pallor with unsettling clarity. His Dark Mark._

_Severus is momentarily paralyzed by the horror of it all. How could she? How could she betray him like this? But then movement returns and he seizes her throat. Farren's eyes widen in shock, hurt by his intent rather than the actual pain. Her pulse, which he had only just admired minutes before, now races against his palm like a trapped butterfly._

_For a full minute, he imagines tightening his grip, of actually hurting her. But then everything slides back into focus. He sees the braced expression on Farren's face and is reminded, for some reason, of his childhood and the despairing hopelessness of it all._

_He releases her and Farren stumbles back, unprepared for this act of mercy. And, for the first time in his life, Severus Snape says something impulsive and uncalculated. "Do you hate me?"_

_She does not look at him as she touches her neck._ "_I will always hate you, but not because of this—-" she gestures at the Dark Mark. "I hate you because despite all evidence, despite all fact, and despite _this_… I still won't ever give up on you."_

_And Snape sees himself as Farren does: as her capture. He would hate him too. But truthfully, Farren's role is not all that different for him either._

"_When were you branded?"_

"_During the holidays."_

_Farren gives him a look of deepest regret. Snape hates it. He would rather have her yell at him and call him a moronic, sadistic bastard who is destined to die alone. But instead she throws herself into his arms and he forgets about the look. Not having much of a choice, Severus allows the chaste press of her body. And part of him – a part buried so deep that initially he does not recognize it – thanks her silently._ _A few moments pass in which they remain in their embrace. Farren begins to do a slight movement with her head that reminds Snape of a cat._

"_Make love to me," she murmurs into his shirt._

_Without speaking, he takes her small hand into his and begins to guide her toward the familiar sofa. Farren is the first to sit down. She gazes up at him and, for a moment, Severus is startled by how very young she appears. And he realizes that Farren Graham will never fully reach adulthood. She will forever remain slightly stunted and fragile, despite all her attempts to be otherwise. She will forever remain the eager first-year Snape had noticed on platform 9 ¾._

_And for that he is very grateful. _


	13. Into the Woods

Farren strides languidly up to the Fat Lady

**Author's Note:** Let me just say that this is my favorite chapter as of yet. Now, don't go thinking it will be yours because I've heard people who weren't too happy with it. It doesn't have any Snarren or Firius. But it starts a subplot that I personally love. So here it is. I'm sorry it's so long. I would really, _really_ love any sort of feedback, especially for this chapter. Also, chapters will be published much slower now because I actually have to write them. Until now, I've had the chapters ready and just needed to revise. But now I actually need to write them. I hope you'll still stick with me though. Thanks for reading!

**Into the Woods**

_Write an essay describing the many slayings of giants from the famous Gillferd Ollerton and the misconceptions his reputation has given other magical beings about wizards and witches. It must be at least four rolls long and include specific events from the 15__th__ century._

As Farren walks down the seventh floor corridor, reading the prompt and her essay over again, she wonders when it is she'll use the information attained by doing this assignment. Never, she concludes. Initially, Farren had been rather excited to write the essay. It would be quite fun, she'd thought, to dive into the bigotry of wizards and witches and the division it has created within the magical world. But then Farren had noticed the word "_misconception_". Of course. she isn't supposed to analyze or dare criticize their precious society. No, her job as a student is to reverberate facts like some perverse parrot and assure the adults that she's a good little girl who still believes in their fucked up way of doing things. And that's what Farren had done. She'd sat there in the library for hours and wrote everything she was supposed to, glorifying the hardships dealt to the wizards and witches by their magical brethren, whom simply "misunderstand" them. Lord, just thinking about it makes Farren want to gag. But that is what she must do. She must prostitute herself and do what they want if she ever really wants to survive at all. The whole thing makes her think of Severus, who is on the same boat as she is. Neither of them have family to fall back on for money or support. Both of them must leave Hogwarts by the end of this year and become completely independent. And, of course, they both dream of being more than just parrots. They both see these faults within the social order they must partake in. And because of this, they both want more.

…_We both want so much more…_

With a sigh, she attempts to push the matter away. It is no use dwelling. And as the Fat Lady's portrait comes into view, a new worry strikes her.

"Fuck," she mutters, slowing her strides down to a halt. When she reaches the Fat Lady, the portrait will ask for a password. A password her memory is currently withholding. But after a moment's consideration, Farren shrugs, thinks "_to hell with it_", forces a radiant smile onto her face and continues the walk to the painting.

"Hullo, my lovely lady! Might I say that you are looking particularly divine tonight?"

The portrait looks down past her up-turned noise and at the girl with a mixture of haughtiness and disdain. "And what do you want?"

"Why, nothing of course. I was simply commenting on what is so plainly obvious," she says, trying desperately to keep her smile genuine. It's harder than usual.

But apparently it works because the Fat Lady flushes with pleasure despite herself. "Well I have been cutting down on my wine recently… But I didn't think it made much of a difference—"

"No difference? My dear, you look positively _ravishing_. In fact," and here she leans forward to whisper, "I heard a portrait of a handsome knight and his steed saying those exact words."

The woman gives a little girlish giggle that reminds Farren of Celia. "Oh come in, come in," she says, swinging forward and waving an imploring hand. "And – er – which floor did you say that knight was on, dear?"

"The second. Good luck!" And then she walks through the portrait hole without ever having provided a password. She'll have to keep flattery in mind when she forgets it again.

Farren is surprised to see that, despite the late hour, a decent amount of students remain in the common room. She notes as well that they are all either in O.W.L or N.E.W.T years. And, sure enough, a pretty red-head sits hunched over a very thick looking textbook. And not too far from her is Celia, who seems to be practicing a charm on a teacup.

She first goes to Lily. "Darling," she says gingerly, slipping an arm around her, "the very look of that textbook is enough to make me jump out that window."

"I know!" Lily says in a much shriller voice than normal. "And I've no idea how to do any of it! I feel asleep during Runes today—"

"You what? How could _you_ have fallen asleep in class?"

To Farren's utter amazement, the girl blushes. "I didn't, uh, get much sleep the night before."

She raises an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"Nothing… nothing in particular. Just thinking and stuff…" Lily says with false casualty, busying herself by flipping through scattered pieces of paper.

Farren is not fooled. "Lily Evans, what in God's name were you thinking about that kept you up all night?"

"I wasn't thinking about anything _important_—stop smirking, Ren! Fine. I was just up reading that book Potter gave me. But the fact that I lost sleep over it just proves that boy mucks everything up."

"That's rubbish," Farren says between laughs. "You're just cross because you're starting to fancy—"

"I DO NOT FANCY JAMES POTTER!"

Silence falls in the common room at Lily's outburst. Several heads swivel to glare at the interruption.

"…Sorry," she says hurriedly. Then, to Farren, "I didn't mean to shout—"

Farren smiles reassuringly. "That's alright. You're too stressed, love. I think we all are. We just need a—"

But Celia walks over to the other girls then, looking harassed. "I give up!" she declares and throws the tea mug down with vehemence. "Maybe the bloody teacup doesn't _want_ to become an elegant goblet." She throws herself into the seat next to Lily, still fuming. "Maybe it just wants to stay a teacup!"

Farren surveys her two disheveled-looking friends, then the other fifth and seventh years. Some are mumbling to themselves, others pulling panicky fingers through their hair and all bearing the unmistakable signs of near insanity. Even Farren herself is catching onto the mood, becoming nervous and apprehensive for no evident reason. She gets like this a lot after writing long essays like the one she had just finished. It's a horrible feeling, like all the enthusiasm and hope for the educational system she'd managed to cling to was sucked dry from her very soul and it now lay withered, drained, and dead.

See? See what schoolwork can do to people? And they get so caught up in their need to achieve everything, they forget the real purpose of school: to ensure success in the long-run. And right now, with the war waging in full swing, the long-run is not something people are promised. They are only promised _now_, this moment they're currently wasting on Rune translations and such.

"What are you doing!?" Lily shrieks when Farren closes the heavy textbook with a resounding bang.

"I'm saving you," she states and snatches it off the table. Lily's scream of horror rings throughout the room as Farren chucks the book out the open window.

Taking advantage of her temporary paralyzation, Farren grabs the girl and drags Lily out of the common room. "Come on," she barks to Celia. "We're taking a break."

Lily regains speech just as the portrait-hole seals shut behind them. "You… you… _COW_!" She wrestles out of Farren's grip. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU DON'T HAVE REGARD FOR ANYONE BUT YOURSELF, DO YOU?"

"I'm helping you."

"HOW CAN YOU!? YOU CAN'T EVEN HELP YOURSELF!"

"But I can try to help you."

Lily stops yelling, takes a step back and looks at Farren as though she had just sprouted antlers. Then she roars in frustration and dives for the girl with flailing arms. "YOU—DON'T—KNOW—EVERYTHING—!" She pants, struggling to fight out of Celia's restraining grasp with new every word. "YOU—ALWAYS—THINK—YOU'RE—RIGHT—!"

"I know I'm not always right. When I was five I bet my cousin three pounds that he couldn't stay underwater for more than a minute and he did… Though the brain damage was quite an unfortunate side effect—"

"THIS IS NO TIME FOR JOKING!"

"Actually," Farren says with a shrug, "I think it's the perfect time for it."

Lily glares daggers at her and there is pure loathing in her eyes. "Release me," she commands. Celia looks at Farren, who gives a single nod.

"I'm going back inside," Lily says, straightening herself. "And tomorrow, when Professor Babbling asks why I couldn't do my homework, I'll tell her to talk to you."

"Lovely. You do that. Off you go then."

She turns furiously, walks a few paces, stops, and gasps. "She's… _gone_!" And Lily spins back to them in disbelief. "The Fat Lady, she's not in her portrait."

"Hmm," Farren says, doing quite a good job at sounding appropriately curious. "So I take it you _will_ be joining us, then."

But before Lily can retort, Celia clears her throat awkwardly and says, "Exactly where are we going again?"

"The forest."

"The Forbidden Forest?" Lily scoffs and gives a short, derisive laugh. "And precisely why would you do that?"

"Because it's the only place on these grounds where we can actually do something to help prepare for what's out there. It's the only place where we can learn to protect ourselves."

"You're not joking, are you? You're actually serious," Lily mutters in half amazement, half exasperation. "You're insane."

Farren grabs Lily's hands imploringly, loosing all sense of anger and aggravation. "Lily, just _think_ about it. We know all the spells; we've had six and a half years of learning. Don't you think it's about time we put those things to use? I'm tired of being in a classroom and having this false sense of security. I want to be challenged in real, unsupervised combat; with no teacher separating me from the real danger. Because we're not children anymore and these aren't good times to live in, despite all the bullocks the ministry keeps feeding us about "making advances" in the war. The truth is that the Dark Lord is out there. He's out there spreading this idea that people like us are scum—no, _infestations_! And his ideas are catching like wildfire… We can't pretend anymore, Lily. We can't pretend that we're safe, really. That the danger is elsewhere. He's here: killing, maiming, destroying, corrupting—" her voice falters slightly on the last word, but she swallows and continues. "And I refuse to be a victim."

Lily pulls her hands away from Farren's, but this time it isn't angry. "You're being dramatic, Ren. We have Dumbledore. We—"

"DUMBLEDORE?" she bellows. "Dumbledore? And will we have Dumbledore when we leave here at the end of term? Did you're brother," she points at Celia, "have Dumbledore?"

Celia looks down at her feet.

"We don't have anyone but ourselves. And I don't know about you, but learning more about how to translate Rune symbols doesn't really make me feel more prepared for that."

Farren watches Lily hopefully. Somehow she knows that her answer, whatever it is, will change their friendship. It is a test to see whether these very different girls can manage to be at all functional together, or maybe even learn from each other.

"I want to do it," Celia murmurs. "I want to be prepared, Ren."

Farren flashes her a smile. "That's very brave of you, Celia. You know, you really are extraordinary sometimes."

Celia looks back down at the floor, obviously pleased.

Then Farren turns back to Lily expectantly.

She shakes her head slightly. "It's all fine and well when you say it like that. But just step back a moment and listen to yourself. Going into the forest? That's completely insane."

Farren snaps. "You know what's insane? The fact that nine year-old boys are being killed right now. That people still believe whole-heartedly that we deserve to exterminated just because of our family. That the world can become _this_ horrible, and still not show a single sign of hope. That we can't live our lives normally because some depraved bastard decided he's boss. That's insane. Going into the forest to train ourselves? That's positively ingenious."

Lily sighs and rubs her temples in a tired motion. "Farren, are you absolutely sure you're not supposed to be in Slytherin?"

She suddenly has the most wonderful urge to laugh and does so. "Darling, you're getting better already! That joke wasn't even that dry…"

"And tell me again why I'm friends with you?" But Lily's resolve is waning.

Farren responds with a grin. "Because when you compare yourself to me, you feel like a well-balanced and rational human being?"

"I wish it were anything nearly as sensible as that."

And with that, Lily walks past Farren and Celia and further away from the Gryffindor common room. "Well?" she says, looking back at them. "Aren't you coming?"

Farren follows after her. "Of course I am."

The girls make their way quietly toward the ground floor. Farren uses the trap door Sirius had once taken her through, but this is only a precaution. Lily says that, as Head Girl, she has the right to be outside the common room at late hours. But since none of them are certain whether these privileges extend to the Head Girl and two friends, they decide to try and avoid the authorities altogether. And soon enough they are greeted by the bitter, cold, European night air.

As they walk through the grounds, a movement occurs in the skies and Celia's silhouette is thrown into high relief by the moonlight. Farren is stunned by how beautiful she looks. Still very plain, but the determination makes her charming and more noticeable.

_This_, she thinks, _is what true loyalty must look like. Not my twisted version of it_. And Farren laments the pure faithfulness she can never possess. She feels sorry for herself, but more so for Sirius and Severus and any other man she may become involved with. She wishes, more than ever, that she could be better, if only for them. She wishes to be stronger willed, like Lily. Or as devoted as Celia. And slowly Farren realizes how remarkable people can be sometimes. Flawed, yes, but beautifully so. On any other night she might've pretended not to see it, but they are all through with pretending. So Farren allows her romantics to flood over her, and she feels a rush of appreciation for… _this_. Whatever it is: life or love or God or Spiritualism or anything. Everything. It's having friends who don't necessarily believe you, but trust you and may just love you. It is going off into the darkness because you wish to conquer it. It is, for once in your life, doing something worthwhile.

Lily glances over at Farren. Some of what she is feeling must show on her face, because Lily breaks out into that oddly understanding smile. And then they enter the Forbidden Forest, immersing themselves within its trees.

"Let's not go too far in yet," says Lily, the ever present voice of reason. "We can come back another time, but first let's just keep it simple. The less dangerous creatures. That is if this insane plan of Farren's works and doesn't get us all killed or isn't a complete waste of time."

"It isn't," Farren says with such confidence that she herself feels quite impressed. "I'm positive. I can sense it."

"We'll see," she says doubtfully.

At first it seems Lily will be vindicated. They remain ever watchful and alert as they walk through the forest for over half an hour, but nothing out of the ordinary occurs. At one time Farren is certain she hears hooves, but Celia says it is probably a unicorn and unicorns are quite harmless. And as more time passes Farren watches Lily become steadily more impatient and Celia all the more disheartened.

And, sure enough, Lily soon opens her mouth, looking at Farren.

"I know, I know," Farren says before Lily can utter a word. She is horrified to feel a warning ache in her throat that threatens tears. "I guess you were right. This was a… a _stupid_ idea. It won't help anything. Let's just—"

"ARRGH!" Celia shrieks.

Lily and Farren whip around, wands raised and ready. But all they see is a very baffled looking Celia.

"I don't understand," she says, looking down at her ankle. Blood is oozing in copious amounts from several deep scratches. "What on earth did that?"

Farren suddenly notices the oak tree behind the girl. "Celia, get away from that tree," she orders.

"What are you—?"

But it is too late. A seemingly innocent stick falls from the tree and onto Celia's shoulder. And then it springs into action, immediately going for her face.

"Close your eyes as tight as you can!" Farren shouts, just as Lily says, "_Stupefy_!"

Her aim is impeccable. The bowtruckle falls to the ground, harmless and unmoving.

"That was close," Celia says, panting.

"Get behind us and ready yourself. From what I remember, Professor Kettleburn said those things travel in packs."

"_Oh_," Lily gasps as tens—hundreds of bowtruckles emerge from the surrounding trees. "They're everywhere!"

"_Stupefy_!" Celia says and another one falls. But it does nothing to their huge numbers.

"Stupefy won't work for all of them," says Farren. "Lily—?"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" There is a pause and then, "Oh! _Reducto_!"

This is considerably more effective. Five or more of the bowtruckles explode into minute splinters.

"I don't think they liked that very much," Farren says as the wooded creatures truly start their ambush.

The girls keep to their tight-knit group. They send spell after spell, and eventually someone invents the method of washing away double the amount of creatures with Aguamenti. And quickly enough, the bowtruckle numbers begin to diminish. Some stand and continue to fight, despite their eminent destruction. But the smart ones learn to run screaming for the hills.

"_Aguamenti_," Farren shouts and laughs triumphantly as ten bowtruckles are pushed into a giant boulder. "HA!"

But just then the oddest thing ever happens. The sounds of the still oncoming bowtruckles, and even the sound of her friends' curses, stop completely. The battle wages on, but it is as if someone has pressed the mute button over the entire forest. The only sound that is left is her own heavy breathing.

Farren looks about in confusion and horror. Neither one of her companions seems bothered by this sudden lack of noise. It is only her. And then she spots a flurry of movement in the shadows coming closer and closer. At first Farren is paralyzed with fear, but then the shadow gives a little laugh and…

_Ah_, that laugh! That laugh seems to carry all the good and sweetness in the world. But it is so much more than that. It carries the beautiful tragedy of all existence, the loving death. It is both light and dark intertwined to form something luscious and irresistible.

"Why are you fighting, my child?"

That voice, just the same as the laugh.

"I'm not a child," Farren murmurs, feeling as though there is cotton on her tongue. "I'm—"

"_Hussshhh_," and the figure steps forward from the shadow. It is an odd-looking creature that initially appears elf-like, but gradually reveals more of a resemblance to the goblins that guarded Gringotts. Its bone structure is delicate and small, but memorable all the same. "_Husshhh_," it hisses again, "and come with me. I have treats for you."

Farren tries not to move. Something is wrong. That voice, though oh-so-sweet, is telling her to do something bad. "No, no," she protests weakly.

"But why?" it implores. "Do you not love me?"

And Farren realizes that she does. God help her, she loves that creature more than anything. "I do…"

"Then why fight? Delicious, delicious girl… I love you. Will you refuse me?"

Of course she won't.

And, without her noticing, Farren's legs start to stumble forward. She feels people move around her dimly, semi-familiar faces swim in and out of focus. But it is all meaningless. It is the senseless hustle and bustle of ants. They do not matter. Only the voice matters, only her creature.

"Yesss. That's right. Come to—"

Then, from out of nowhere, an enormous horse tramples toward the elf-like creature. It rises onto its hind legs and kicks furiously.

"Leave our forest now, Erkling! You have no business here."

"_NO_!" Farren shrieks without meaning to.

And then people are beside her and grabbing desperately at her, color drained from both their faces. "Ren, _Ren_! Oh Ren, are you alright?"

"I…I…" she says, still unsure whether she should thank or hate them for sending the shadowy creature away.

"Are you well, human?"

Farren realizes that the beast is not a horse at all, but a centaur.

He turns to the other girls. "Your friend's mind has been addled with. She will feel confusion for a short period of time, but will recover eventually."

"Wait!" Lily yells to the already retreating centaur. "What was that thing?"

"That, human, was an Erkling. It seems to have strayed far from the Black Forest of Germany. Erklings lure children by the sounds of their voices and eat them. I believe your friend has been mistaken for a child—"

Celia gasps and then shudders.

"We centaurs have been trying to purge the forest of this Erkling, but it has proven very adept at evasion."

At the words "we centaurs" more hooved men reveal themselves from behind the trees.

"I am Cheiron, the herd leader—"

"THEY HAVE TRESPASSED UPON OUR TERRITORY, CHEIRON!" A brown centaur bellows. "THEY MUST BE PUNISHED!"

Cheiron stomps his feet angrily at the interruption. "Must I remind you that we do not harm foals, especially those of the sacred gender?"

"They look fully matured to me, if not close to—"

Cheiron gestures at Farren as he strides to the argumentative centaur. "This one has been mistaken for a child by an Erkling! She cannot be much older than one." And then his booming voice becomes even more dangerous. "Or would you override my judgment, Rhoecus?"

For a moment it appears as though the beast will reply with a resounding, "Yes". But then he averts his gaze and mutters through tightly gritted teeth, "I do not wish to override your judgment."

"Human!" barks the leader of the herd, pointing to Lily and then gesturing again at Farren again. "Put that one on my back. She needs to be healed."

There is a stirring among the herd of outrage and swishing tails. It ceases after one sharp glance from Cheiron.

He nods at Lily and she hoists Farren onto his back. Farren slouches over to the side like a sack of potatoes, and it is all Lily can do to keep her from falling off.

"I think it would be easier if you rode with her," the centaur says. Then, addressing Celia, "You may ride on my son, Firenze."

A much smaller but unabashed centaur steps forward to Celia's side and lowers himself to the ground. It is an awkward sight to behold, the decently sized girl atop a child centaur. After she situates herself as best she can, Celia gives a messy thumbs-up to indicate she is ready.

And, without hesitation, they begin to gallop through the trees. Farren instantly feels she will be sick. The blurred, flashing scenery makes her head spin and her stomach churns accordingly.

"It's alright. You're okay. Everything is going to be fine." Lily whispers similar comforts into her ear all throughout the ride. She holds Farren upright in her arms, and for that Farren is very grateful. She feels that, were Lily to remove her arms, she would literally fall to pieces.

Finally Cheiron and the rest of the herd begin to slow down. Their gallop becomes a trot, and then a steady halt.

Some words are exchanged, but Farren cannot distinguish to whom the voices belong to. It is all just a blur of sound waves that simply pass right through her and do not register. But then Lily begins to cautiously remove her arms, and Farren is suddenly thrown into hyper-awareness

_Oh no, oh no_,_ oh no,_ she thinks as bile rises to her throat. Then, unable to take anymore, Farren leans over to the other side and vomits. The centaur herd looks disgustedly between Farren and the pile of sick. The wild, brown colored one makes her feel as though she is the ugliest cockroach in existence.

"Sorry," she says, trying to work sarcasm into her tone and failing.

Celia is the one to help her down and put Farren's arm around her neck. The stance reminds Farren vaguely of the night in which Snape had rescued her. The memory is odd, as though it had happened in a dream or another life or perhaps even another dimension from the one she currently moves in.

Farren is placed on the grass and she already forgets who had helped her. She catches a glimpse of Lily and Cheiron walking toward her, carrying what appears to be bottled herbs and leaves.

"I will brew a solution that may diminish her confusion, but I cannot do much else. You're friend—"

"Farren," Lily corrects, looking as white as a sheet. "Her name is Farren Graham."

The centaur nods curtly. "—Farren will still feel drained and fatigued."

"Will she be okay?" This time it's Celia.

"Yes. She was lucky the Erkling did nothing more than befuddle her. I hear they like to play with their food before eating it... You should thank the fates on bended knee."

"Or we should thank _you_," Lily says quietly, giving Cheiron a look of silent gratitude.

The centaur looks impassive. "I did nothing but follow the stars—" A scoff sounds from the herd. Cheiron ignores it. "No being should be thanked for their actions. Ultimately the fates, and not the being, is the one to choose."

Farren looses track of the conversation. She looses track of sensation, consciousness, and even time itself. She goes into a state that seems to border both sleep and reality.

"Drink this," a gravelly voice orders. When she opens her eyes, a small vial is being pushed toward her face.

Farren obeys the voice, not certain whether it is a dream or not. And then everything slowly becomes clearer—though not entirely comprehensible. She is not dreaming. She has just barely escaped a near death experience. The centaurs are helping her. And that creature in the forest does not love her… And she does not love it. It is this fact, rather than any other, that makes Farren begin to cry.

"Ren," Celia says, moving to touch her. But Cheiron stops her with a shake of his head. Farren finds this very wise because she suspects that if anyone touched her right then, she would hurt them. So she cries with no one there to cling to her or give her false promises or misinterpret how she feels. It is sometimes so much easier to be alone, with only your mind as witness.

Farren sobers up rather quickly. The tears dissipate and she takes a shuddering breath that is surprisingly calming. "I cannot thank you enough for saving me," she says to Cheiron.

"The Erkling must be stopped," he states simply.

Farren registers the centaur's priorities, but understands it is the nature of his mind and does not take offence. "How can I repay you?"

Cheiron considers her for a long while. He looks at her with such scrutiny that Farren feels herself blush slightly. Then he speaks at last, "There are things I could ask of you that have already been foretold by the stars. But first I wish to give you something. An item."

Farren looks around to Lily and Celia, asking silently for their opinions.

"They may come as well," Cheiron adds.

The two girls give small shrugs and nods and Lily says, "If it's safe..."

"I do not think the Erkling will return if I am near you," he assures her.

With that, Cheiron informs the rest of the herd to stay put until his return. Though they do not take this graciously, they obey. And then the broad-chested centaur is guiding the girls back in the direction of Hogwarts.

The trees, which seem to grow wilder with the forest's depth, rip Farren's clothing and scratch the exposed flesh on her legs. Celia and Lily have just as hard a time getting through as she does, but Cheiron – on the other hand – appears wholly unperturbed as he dodges the most violent branches.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Lily asks Farren after a long while of silent marching.

She nods but does not speak.

"You were amazing back there, though. With the bowtruckles."

Farren snorts. "You're joking, right? Lily, I was almost eaten—"

"But before that, I mean. You really knew your stuff."

She shakes her head and gives a very small smile. "You're the one who came up with all the spells. You're the one who knew what to do."

"That's not true. Celia was the one who came up with Aguamenti. I knew some spells, but you kept your cool. Without you, I think I would have lost it and panicked. How did you remember all those things about the bowtruckles anyway? That lesson must have been taught during our fourth year and you can't even remember to put your knickers on everyday."

Farren taps a finger to her head. "Selective memory. I remember what I like, and Care of Magical Creatures is one of my favorite classes. Everything else is simply…" she leers at Lilly, "thrown out the window."

The silence comes back again as they continue to tumble through roots and branches. But Farren notices that the trees are thinning, which must mean they are mercifully getting closer to the exit.

"You were right," Lily says abruptly. "Regardless of how it ended, you were right about coming here. It was worth it. I feel exhilarated and real and… Well, I feel good."

Farren considers this for a moment. "You know, I think I feel good too."

And it's true. Despite having almost been killed by an Erkling, she feels accomplished. And anyway, she has finally realized her dream of meeting the centaurs. And they are no disappointment, their general disdain for all things human notwithstanding.

"That being said, I think it would be best if we waited for the centaurs to kill the Erkling first before taking another trip to the forest."

Farren laughs. "Agreed."

Cheiron, who is leading their strange group, looks back at the sound of her laughter, as if to make certain it isn't another disruption.

"Cheiron," Farren says jogging up to meet him as Lily falls back with Celia.

The centaur allows Farren to catch up to him. "Yes, Farren Graham?"

Despite having been the one to call his attention, Farren hesitates. "Why did you go through all that trouble of brewing me a solution? You and I both know I'd have been fine within a day or two."

Cheiron takes so long to respond that Farren begins to believe he won't answer her at all. But then, "You reminded me of a human I once knew."

Farren, though very intrigued by this matter, does not pry further. The centaur does not offer more information and she is frightened of disturbing this feeble but civilized relationship with Cheiron. So she fights back her questions, trusting that time will tell.

They finally arrive at their destination. Cheiron stops in the center of a small alcove of very old-looking trees. He requests that only Farren follow any further, and the other girls wait on the outskirts of the alcove. They agree, not having much of a choice.

When they are alone, Cheiron strides to a particularly large oak, reaching inside its nook and extracting a book. He peers down at it and, for a split second, some emotion flickers across his face. But then it hardens again and becomes unresponsive.

"Here it is," he says, handing it to Farren. It is a diary. "The owner of that diary asked I keep it safe until I found a suitable alternate. I am passing it on to you, so you may now be its keeper. Read it, if you wish. But the more important thing is that you keep it safe. And you must comprehend that by taking this book, you are binding yourself to it. Do you understand?"

She doesn't. "Yes." Farren touches the cover. It has no title and is a very dark, leathery green that reminds her of coldly glinting water.

"I have waited for nearly three decades, but decided waiting any longer would be foolish. I believe the herd is becoming weary of my leadership. I will be killed soon and my successor will seize control of the centaurs. No—" He interrupts Farren when she opens her mouth to object. "I am not looking for sympathy, simply stating that the centaurs will be friends to you until that time comes... It is the natural order of things, Farren Graham. Fate. And I do not stand in the way of fate. I embrace fate with open arms. You too must come to appreciate inevitability."

She does not understand in the slightest but is too overwhelmed to care. Farren studies the diary, an odd buzz humming through her body. She wonders if it has anything to do with what Cheiron had said about "binding yourself to the book."

"I must leave now, Farren Graham. It is safe enough for you and your friends to return to the castle tonight without my assistance. But the next time you feel you must return, come to this place exactly and I will be here."

"When I feel I must return?" she repeats, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"You will understand when the time is right. Goodbye for now and good luck."

When Cheiron is gone, Farren calls Celia and Lily back and informs them of what the centaur had told her. They seem just as confused by the diary as Farren is, though more concerned with matters she had yet to consider.

"Who do you think it belongs to?" Celia asks when Farren finishes.

"Well," she says, "there's only one way to find out. Sit down and I'll read a little out loud. It's fine," Farren says when they both shoot her apprehensive glances. "Cheiron said this place is safe." She plops down onto the grass. The others do not follow and Farren groans. "Come _on_. We're basically out of the forest anyway. Nothing would come this close to the castle."

Knowing that arguing with Farren Graham is possibly one of the most pointless things one can do, Celia and Lily take seats beside her, forming a triangle.

The first thing in the diary is a poem scrawled neatly on the inside cover. She reads this.

"Do you know the way to Maia's Arbor?

Where the forbidden (or rather the unspoken) reside

When the Pandora's Box of life has been opened

Where you sigh as the golden fields roll underneath you, like a lover

When the cold and freakish hands of a sister touches your flesh

Where hope, the greatest evil of all, holds fast to your heart

When hope becomes your bounder, your enslavement, your capture

Where the awakening secretes from a single kiss

And when the awakening (ah, the awakening) is finally poured

over your trembling corpse

Do you know the way to Maia's Arbor?"

"The _awakening_?" Celia interjects, face scrunched up in distaste. "What a load of waffle! It sounds like this girl just needs a good shagging."

"And how do you know it's a girl?" Farren barks and is surprised by how annoyed the comment makes her. "You're so naive, Celia. It sounds to me like this person _is _talking about getting shagged."

Celia, though initially stunned by Farren's nastiness, regains speech and continues with her conviction. "'When the awakening is poured over your corpse?'" she paraphrases. "That doesn't exactly scream orgasm, Ren."

"Well maybe she felt a little dead inside afterward. I don't think you have much of a right to judge. Or did your cherry get popped while you were away and you just forgot to tell me?"

Celia's mouth drops open.

"Why don't we just read on?" Lily says quickly, before Celia can retaliate. "Or go back to the castle? It's been a long night and—"

"No," Farren says firmly. "We're reading on."

When she turns the page, a letter falls into her lap. She handles the very old and battered parchment delicately, afraid a wrong move might make it crumble and turn to dust. But it doesn't.

"_Dear friend,_

_I am preserving this diary because I have realized my fate. My future is bleak and unchangeable and I have learned to accept that. I will fight no longer (perhaps I never really fought to begin with). But what I will do is hide this diary, in the hopes that someday the right person might hold it within their grasp and that that person will evade the mistakes I have so stupidly made. Mistakes which have ultimately lead to this downfall of mine. I entrust my diary with Cheiron, my keeper. They are a brilliant species, centaurs. Stubborn, arrogant, proud to the point of foolishness, but brilliant—come to think of it, more like us than is conceivable…_

…_My dear friend, I am very frightened. I am too far gone and admitting that may be one of the most terrifying things I'll ever have to do. I wish you— whoever you are— could be here with me now as I write this. I wish you could tell me that what I'm doing, what must be sacrificed, is right. And I wish I could rest my head against your stomach and feel the reassuring rise and fall of your breath. Because though I can never know you, dear friend, I love you. And I think you'll come to love me too._

_So goodbye and hello, my love. Good morning and a very goodnight. I hope, more than anything, that you can understand me. Can understand us._

_Always,_

_The Prince_"

"Ha!" Lily jibes. "It isn't even a girl. That will teach you both to make assumptions."

But Farren isn't listening. She is looking at the signature and handwriting. Something about it makes the hair on her neck stand on end. It feels simultaneously familiar and foreign, like a friend whom you see after a long interval of absence.

"It is a girl," she says, interrupting Lily. "I think 'The Prince' might just be a nickname."

Lily only looks at her with a knowing and disbelieving gaze. "Whatever you say, Ren. Just read on."

Farren does so, turning to the first entry. There is no date or preface of any kind.

"_Dear friend,_

_Ella is engaged to Cygnus Rosier and the wedding is set to happen this very summer, right after we end our seventh year. I know I shouldn't find this romantic—considering Ella was actually forced into the marriage by her parents—but I do anyway. People like Druella Flint are always forced into marriages because they're so fortunate in all other aspects of life, they believe their partners will be just as wonderful and perfect. Because Ella is pretty, and her family owns a decent amount of gold, and she will probably make a good and gracious wife when properly tamed. People like Ella believe they know what it's like to feel lonely or unfortunate, but they don't. She is not plain as I am, nor poor or pessimistic._

_Once, when she was complaining about the engagement, all of this just spilled out of me. She got in a right state._

_'Oh stop feeling _sorry _for yourself, Eileen,' she groaned._

_'I'm not,' I said. 'I just think you take things for granted.'_

_'Take things for granted? Are you mental? That boy Rosier is a slimeball. Would _you_ marry him?'_

_I shrugged and Ella sighed in exasperation. 'That's very sad. I hope you know you're worth more than him.'_

_But what Ella does not understand is that, in the current world, I am not worth a cent more than what I appear to be. Being smart and cunning is all fine and well, but it doesn't get a woman anywhere. I myself take great pride in my brilliance. I really do. But the rest of the world does not._

_'He's the best either of us will do, Ella. For very different reasons, but a truth all the same.'_

_Initially, Ella looked hurt and near tears at my comment. But then she suddenly sprang up from her seat and twirled me around the empty common room._

"_We are Persian princesses, my darling!" she shouted. "Money and blood does not matter because we are princesses! We only deserve jewels! And we both deserve a jewel of a spouse!"_

_I played along but as always remained a little reserved. And that is because a part of me believes Ella and her childish dreams. Ella can afford these fantasies without much worry, but to me they are catalysts for dangerous thought. And that is why this friendship with her is so foolish. It should be ended, I know. But the truth is that I love Ella. Even I, a pessimist, must admit we share something abstract and brilliant._

_So I play along._

_Always,_

_The Prince"_

Farren looks up from the diary. Lily is watching the sky through the treetops while Celia picks at her cuticles. "Were you two even listening?" she spits, angry.

"Yes," Lily says at the exact same time that Celia sighs, "Not really."

Farren bites her tongue. This—human interaction, that is—is so fickle. One minute she loves Celia and finds her beautiful, the next she wishes to strangle her… But perhaps this is simply the way Farren's mind works. Maybe she's just screwed up like that. Either way, it is incredibly infuriating. And again, Farren reveals in how easily one could slip into solidarity; become a hermit, leave everything and everyone. It might even be more satisfying that way. Human beings are capable of being complete all on their own. There is no need for soul-mates or true love. People can love themselves and be whole. But Farren supposes that having another person shower you with their love is the quicker, less taxing manner of doing it.

But it is still possible. She could leave now. She could simply stand up from this triangle, draw confused expressions from her friends. And then she could say, "I'm finished. I'm done. You didn't do anything wrong—not really, anyway. It isn't your fault, but I'm done. I think it was the entire accumulation of people who I know can't ever love me the way I love myself... You see? You're even doing it now. In your mind, you have just labeled me a narcissist. Conceited." And then she could smile sadly. "It's no one's fault. If anything, blame human nature. Blame whoever it was that established human nature and it's self-destructive, flawed way of living... But I'm finished. I'm done. I'm leaving."

Farren watches Celia pick her cuticles, completely unaware of the words being silently said to her. And, with a familiar feeling of remorse, she understands that no one will. No one will ever hear her, even if she tried to tell them.

"Alright, let's go back," she says softly, turning to Lily. "We're finished. We're done."


	14. I am Farren, Hear Me Roar

"Cheiron," she breathes, relief flooding over her with the sight of him

**I am Farren, Hear me Roar**

She clears her throat, shoots him a quick glance, licks her lips, and begins to read.

"_Dear friend, _  
_Druella found this alcove of large trees the other day and I must admit, it's quite a good find. Although it is technically part of the Forbidden Forest, the alcove is peaceful and not at all dangerous like the rest of the forest. When I asked Ella how she found it, she said she'd been fooling around with a Ravenclaw prefect and fallen into it. But I knew she was lying and called her out on it._

_Ella just grinned slowly when I did. 'Alright, I wasn't snogging a prefect. I just thought I saw something and got curious. I was hopping it might be a centaur or unicorn or—'_

_I scoffed. 'Don't be thick. None of those creatures would ever come this close to the grounds. And anyway, a centaur would've torn you limb from limb had he caught you encroaching on their territory.'_

_But Ella wasn't even fully listening anymore. She had that dreamy, absent look about her face. 'You reckon? You don't think the centaurs would be charmed by me?'_

_Coming from anyone else's mouth, I might have taken this as a joke. But it was Druella and she is actually delusional enough to believe it._

_'Have you ever noticed that there aren't any female centaurs?' she inquired abruptly._  
_'You don't know that. Perhaps only the males hunt and protect the herd. We've only been in the forest a few times. And professor Kettleburn never took us very far in.'_

_'Let's go to the library,' Ella said. And when I raised a surprised eyebrow she laughed. 'To research about the centaurs. I'm interested.'_

_To my displeasure, Ella was right in her assumption. Only male centaurs exist. To procreate they find a human girl every half a century or so and the herd leader plants his seed within her._

_'Pity,' Ella said, peering down at the book disappointedly. 'They don't have pictures.'_

_'That's sick, Ella, even for you. I doubt any girl would agree to copulate with a centaur, so now we're looking at cross-species rape—'_

_'Ah, ah, ah,' and she wagged a finger at me. 'Wrong again, my darling. It says here the human sacrifice must always be willing.'_

_'Sacrifice? That sounds as though she dies.'_

_Ella shrugged. 'The girl always dies. Let's see you give birth to a liter of half-human, half-horse children and live.'_

_Bile rose in my throat at the image. 'I can't believe you're getting enjoyment out of this.'_

_'Are you kidding? It's thrilling. I decided half an hour ago that we'd find a centaur and have a chat with him.'_

_I, of course, quickly shot this down. But Ella refused to see reason. All along—even as we snuck out of the Slytherin common room, my disillusionment charm disguising us both—I thought Ella was all talk and just wanted to look impressive. I thought for sure she would back down last minute and have a laugh at having dragged us out of bed for nothing. But for what seemed to be the millionth time that day, I was proven wrong._

_Cheiron is a young centaur. From what I gather, he is a bit of an outcast in the herd. I am quite certain that, were Cheiron any different (that is to say older and fully accepted by his fellows), we would never have been able to have so civilized a conversation as we did. _

_I find it a breath of fresh air that, for once, someone is as intrigued by me as they are by Druella. Usually she gets all the attention, but Cheiron listened to us both with equal rapture and curiosity._

_'I will probably be made herd leader, despite my oddities,' he stated, not even a hint of arrogance in his voice. 'My father is a much liked leader and I, his eldest and favorite offspring. Though he does not quite understand my interest in humans, he does not shun me for it as the others do.'_

_'But why?' Ella moaned, sounding hurt and disappointed. 'Why do the centaurs despise us? Your kind needs us to exist!'_

_Cheiron bowed his head. 'My belief exactly. But my kind and yours know a long history of violence and have always been at odds. Partially due to your arrogance, partially due to ours.' And then the centaur gave a small, sad smile. 'Our minds work differently. Both humans and centaurs have interpreted this as nature's way of telling us to stay separated.'_

_'It's not,' I said, surprising even myself. 'That's not it at all. Diversity in thought—or actually diversity of any kind— is nature's way of telling us to come together. Why else would opposites attract?'_

_Cheiron considered me. 'You are an intelligent one, Eileen Prince. I hope your mind may someday live on through your offsprings. I hope your thoughts may withstand time.'_

_I blushed, remembering the centaur's need for a human girl such as myself._

_'She is, isn't she?' Ella said interrupting my train of thought. 'Her mind is beautiful.'_

_I rolled my eyes, but secretly relished their praises. _

_We spoke for hours. In fact, we even watched as the sun rose over the castle's towers. But Ella and I were eventually forced to leave Cheiron, knowing that classes would start in a few hours time._

_I cannot tell you the wonder that this meeting has instilled in me. Ella is great, but with Cheiron and the alcove of oaks surrounding us, I feel as though I am capable of anything and everything. Capable of changing the life that has been set in front of me. And above all else, I feel no guilt for having hope. I should, but I don't._

_And although she does not admit it, I think Ella feels the same way too. She still winces every time Rosier touches or gropes. But now she will look at me, relax, and then smile impishly, doubtlessly thinking of how we might escape to our small and minuscule paradise with Cheiron tonight. To our alcove._

_Always, __  
__The Prince."_

The minute Farren is finished reading, she looks up for his reaction. Severus wears the most peculiar expression which she tries desperately to decipher.

He extends a hand. "May I see that?"

Farren hands it over wearily, her curiosity only fed by his interest in the book. "May I ask why you seem so… taken aback? What do you think of it?"

Immediately, Snape dries up and his features are pulled into neutrality. He turns it over once and chucks it onto the table dispassionately. "I think nothing of it. It is an old diary, Farren. An old school girl's diary. It can and will do nothing for you. I suggest you throw it away before it can plant any silly ideas into your head… Your centaur has sent you on a wild goose chase, I am afraid."

"You're lying," she says simply, flipping through pages of their potions textbook. "You know something about this book, but don't wish to tell me. I know it. But that's okay," Farren turns and smiles at him sweetly. "I'll fuck it out of you if I have to."

Snape gazes at her reproachfully. "How pleasant."

Farren laughs her shrill laugh. "Oh Severus, would you really be with me now if I spoke pleasantly to you? If I were amiable and compliant and… agreeable?"

He considers this for a moment. "No."

"I didn't think so."

Snape begins to turn back to their cauldron, clearly under the impression that Farren has dropped the subject of the diary.  
"Will you find me the Hellabore in the—"

"I'd like to read you another entry," she interrupts. "Just for giggles. You know, since it's all rubbish anyway."

He gives her a sharp, annoyed look for being both interrupted and insisted upon. "You may waste your time in whichever way you please. I, however, will continue to do real work."

Farren nods. "I just want you to listen." Then she opens the leathery diary once again.

_"Dear friend,_  
_Ella and I were in the alcove near the forest again today with Cheiron. He strikes a very impressive figure for being so young. It's hard to even believe it when he speaks and acts so maturely. It makes me think the centaurs age differently than humans._

_Ella managed to casually slip the subject of the human sacrifice in one of our conversations. Cheiron spoke of it in an even, almost bored tone._

_'But—' Ella said when he was finished, looking unsatisfied. 'But what about love?'_

_He regarded her with puzzlement. 'How does love pertain to what we speak of?'_

_Ella sat up and I recognized the preparation for a speech. 'Nothing, and that's my point exactly. If there are no female centaurs, and the human girl dies, where do the centaurs find love?'_

_Amusement crossed his young features. 'You humans are too befuddled by the relationship between a man and a woman to understand. We centaurs do love. We love more purely than any human can. I love the forest, the earth, the animal I will hunt for dinner, my herd.'_

_'But—' Ella said again, and when I looked at her, I knew we were thinking the same thing. 'You can't know your love is purer than ours. You've never tried it.'_

_'And neither have you.'_

_'—And human love can be more than just the relationship between a man and a woman. What about the love between a mother and her child? Or of two sisters or—' she gave me a swift glance and I felt a sensation in my navel, '—friends? That love is very pure.'_

_The centaur stood and his size was startling, even to me. 'I suppose we must agree to disagree on the matter,' he said. 'I must leave now. My herd will begin to wonder why I have not returned. Goodbye for now, Druella Mulciber and Eileen Prince.'_

_And then he left and Ella and I changed the subject to our Trasfiguration homework._

_Later that week, while Ella was at dinner, I accidentally knocked over her school bag and papers scattered everywhere on the floor. I gathered them back up and initially had no intention of reading any of them. But then one paper caught my eye and I couldn't stop myself. _

_It was a letter of sorts and it read: _

_ My Prince, _  
_ Love is the only thing I've ever found that is capable of surviving it all. We could leave these soul binding vessels, these bodies, and still the fact of love would stand. And that is what I give you. I give you this everlasting force, this immortal love. I give it to you in the hope that someday you'll realize I was worth it. That someday you may see my flaws and still find me beautiful. And so you may return my affections with one of those very small, rare smiles._  
_ Love,_  
_ Your Princess_

_I know that letter was meant for me. I am not foolish enough to believe that Ella would have actually given it to me, because she is not the type to openly show such emotional capacity. But it was written for me. And I wish I could tell Ella that her flaws have long since been revealed to me. Hell, the first time I ever met Druella Mulciber seven years ago, I found her excessively chatty and annoying. The truth is that that hasn't changed. And I wouldn't change those flaws for anything. _

_Ella and I… we are both different and the same. And I am sure that, when I am withered and dying and loosing every remaining morsel of my sanity, I will have Ella's voice clear as a bell in my head, telling me a story about how she snogged a seventh year boy when she was a second. She's not a person anymore; she's a routine in my life. Like brushing your teeth or sleeping. You can't _not_ sleep… and I can't imagine not having Ella. Does that make any sense?_

_I don't find her engagement to Rosier romantic anymore. I don't think I ever did really. I imagine him touching her with his meaty paws and I feel sick to my stomach. This is presenting itself as more of a problem than I'd ever dreamed. My mind keeps working of its own accord, always going back to the same thing: how to save Ella._

_Always,_  
_The Prince"_

Farren closes the diary slowly. For some reason, she is suddenly frightened to look for Snape's reaction this time. What if he is crying? What can she do to help him? It's an absurd, even laughable idea. Severus Snape, she is sure, is wholly incapable of tears. Not if puppies were being brutally tortured before his eyes, not if his mother was killed in front of him, and certainly not if he heard the story of an old schoolgirl that fell in love with her best friend… And yet, for all its ridiculousness, Farren can't shake the feeling that Severus is suppressing the strong urge to cry.

And it is for this reason that she waits several moments before finally raising her head and glancing at him. He is peering down at the textbook while simultaneously chopping a daisy root. This should have relieved Farren, but it does the opposite. Because Farren knows him too well to be fooled. Because for all the reading he is supposedly doing, Snape's eyes do not move across the page. And for all the fine chopping Farren knows he is capable of, the daisy roots are unusually sloppy and uneven.

Whatever sort of connection Severus has to the diary, it is not insubstantial or trite. And although Farren wants with all her heart to know what it is, she realizes that asking him will get her no where. So she will simply continue reading to him and have faith that one day Snape will trust her enough.

Appetizers float on silver platters, the house-elves which carry them invisible. They are odd little creatures, and Farren finds them quite endearing. She loves their wide eyes, small figures and shrill voices. In fact, they remind Farren of herself in an exaggerated, freakish sort of way.

"Pigs in a blanket?" one offers, raising the platter to her level.

She blanches, but tries to smile politely at the elf. "No thanks."

"I'll have hers, then," Sirius says, taking five. "What?" he asks indignantly, mouth full.

"You do realize those are abominations that should be banned for being the most revolting form of food?"

"Blasphemy! Sausages wrapped in ham? That's positively brilliant."

Farren screws her face in distaste. "Whatever you say, _Mr. Black_, but I won't be the one to hold your hair back when you're vomiting in the loo later tonight"

At that moment, Slughorn greets them both with his usual larger-than-life buoyancy. "Farren, Sirius! So glad you two could make my little party. You have been evading me for far too long, miss Graham."

Farren laughs uncomfortably. "Well, I don't think evasion is necessarily the right word."

"Yes it's more like rigorous love-ma—_OW_!" Sirius stops with a sharp intake of breath due to a swift quick from Farren.

"Why don't I go get us all some butterbeer, _dear_," she says pointedly as he rubs his shin.

"Excellent, excellent. I'll wait here with Mr. Black. You know, I have been meaning to speak with you privately about your resent essay in my class. I found it to be a bit… lacking of the brilliance I know you possess. Can't let those marks slip if you wish to work in the ministry, my boy!"

Sirius gives her a pleading look that is so very reminiscent of his animagus form. But, despite her weakness for dogs, Farren only grins maliciously and beings to weave through the sea of students, teachers, guests, and house-elves.

When she arrives at the table which groans under a myriad of drinks and food, she realizes that there is very little she is willing to intake. Reaching past the sautéed pheasant, Farren grabs three butterbeers.

Something grazes her ankles briefly and she feels a sudden shiver at the sensation. Sure it must be Mrs. Norris come to crash the party, Farren peers downward. Nothing is there. Nothing but the ends of immaculate black dress robes.

"Hello Severus."

He turns to her as though unaware that he had just passed her. "Why, miss Graham."

As awful as it is, Farren must fight off a fit of the giggles. Do the others sense that he has known her body—all of her body? Do they know that he currently undresses her with his eyes?

"Forgive me, but my memory fails me at the moment," she says and he must mask a derisive laugh with a coughing fit, "but did we have a meeting scheduled for this week?"

"Yes. Tuesday," he says passively, regaining his composure.

"Oh, yes. How silly of me to forget." Farren pauses and searches the party guests for a moment. "And where is your date?"

Severus gestures into the crowd and Farren spots an unfamiliar and quite pretty looking Slytherin girl.

"Ah," she nods, hoping he does not notice the contempt in her tone. "I don't believe I have seen her previously."

"She's a fifth year. I think. Might be sixth."

"Rather good-looking, isn't she?"

Snape regards her with an unimpressed gaze. "Yes. Pity she's a twit who would give her left arm to fuck Malfoy."

Farren chokes on the sip of butterbeer she had just taken and puts the other two back down so she doesn't drop them.

"Alright?" Snape inquires once she recovers.

Farren flashes her wide smile. "Never better."

Not surprisingly, Severus does not return her smile. "And where is—" he attempts to say Sirius's name, but his jaw clenches involuntarily. He clears his throat. "—he?"

The smile turns bitter as she is reminded of her infidelity. "Speaking with Professor Slughorn. Actually, I should probably go back. He will worry that I've been away so long."

Farren begins to walk back into the throng of people, but is distracted by a sudden motion from Snape. She turns back and locks eyes with him. Something odd is stirring in their black-blue depths. They are simultaneously vacant and piercing. Farren is puzzling over this fact when she hears a voice in her head. It manifests itself as a sort of half-suggestion, half-command.

_Go to the bathroom._

Her thoughts had never been so clear and distinct. And the voice, which is definitely not her own, sounds strangely familiar—

The realizations hits Farren and she regards Severus with a raised eyebrow. Of course it's him. It's always him.

_I don't think so_, is her response.

He exhales in annoyance. _Don't be difficult._

_I will not do that with him so nearby._

Snape looks only momentarily angry, but then he gives a sly smirk. Fearing the content in that smirk, Farren braces herself for whatever form of persuasion he has planned.

But then all at once, a variety of images flash in her mind and all the resistance in the world couldn't help her block them. They are all of her and Snape in very _compromising_ positions.

"Stop," Farren murmurs, feeling a little light-headed.

He adopts as innocent a look as possible for him. "Stop what?"

More images bombard her, now becoming more rapid and frantic. She begins to perspire slightly on her upper lip.

_Alright, alright!_ Farren refuses to look at him, but is certain that triumph is in his gaze. _Follow me after five minutes._

She fights her way into a corridor, praying no one (especially Sirius) sees her. The nerve of him! To attack her mind with sex, just so he can get what he wants. Where does she _find_ these men?

Farren finds a shabby broom cupboard right next to the lavatories. It isn't ideal for the sort of thing Snape has in mind, but that only makes the cupboard all the more perfect. She closes the door behind her and waits. Exactly four minutes later, the light and swift sound of his walk adorns the hallway.

Farren cracks the door just enough to see a sliver outside. Black robes enter her vision and she lunges, pulls him inside and closes the door once again.

"How dare you!" she storms, shoving Severus squarely in the chest. "I will _not _sneak around him like this again! HOW DARE YOU _ASSAULT_ ME IN THE MIDDLE OF A PARTY!"

He snorts. "Assault? Oh please, don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

"That… that is neither important nor relevant!" she stammers.

"Isn't it?" he asks, moving in closer to her. Farren backs away, mumbling half-hearted protests. "Because if you did enjoy the penetration of your mind…" She realizes, all too late, that Severus has backed her up against the door. "…Then perhaps you would enjoy some other form of penetration."

He leans forward, hovering centimeters before her lips. Farren raises her face in anticipation and feels a familiar pulling sensation in her stomach.

He smirks. "Well?"

As an answer, she pushes herself up and pecks him chastely on the lips before pulling away quickly. It is a very childish thing to do, to kiss the man who has been inside her so bashfully and prudishly. But she is quivering with excitement of feeling so many sensations surging through her body.

Severus chuckles at her. "You are like a thirteen-year-old who is both frightened and exhilarated by her own sexuality."

"No I'm not! … Well I don't _want_ to be." In truth, that is precisely how Farren feels whenever she is with Snape or Sirius. They tower over her, making her feel small and naïve. And she wants equally to run away and never leave.

"No," Severus says forcefully. Then he wraps his sinewy arms around her in a sort of cradle, lifting her off the ground. Farren yelps in surprise but is too startled to stop him or ask questions. "I like it." He takes a firm grip on her face, pressing their mouths so tightly together that it borders pain.

Snape stops after several moments to allow them both a chance to breath. In a rare gesture of tenderness, he pushes back the hair from her face and whispers into her ear, "Never change."

Farren is suddenly thrown back to the day she had left for Grimmauld Place with Sirius just before the holidays. She had kissed Snape on the cheek and whispered, "_You are so brilliant_." Those words still echo in Farren's mind like a broken record whenever she is with him. And so the words _never change_ must be Severus's broken record. She wants to analyze the meaning behind these words more but finds it impossible to concentrate at the moment.

Snape unbuttons the top of her dress robes and touches the scorching skin with his cool lips. Something hard is being pressed rhythmically against her stomach and it doesn't take too much imagination to guess what it is.

"Severus," Farren manages to murmur. He doesn't hear. "Severus," she repeats, more loudly.

This time he answers, though all the while never ceasing the kisses on her chest. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

Snape does stop then. He goes statue-stiff, like prey that senses danger. "Why?"

Farren reaches for something on the door and finds it. She turns the knob and, in one fluid motion, wriggles out of his grasp and back into the corridor. "Because you'll have to wait ten minutes before following me this time." She looks down at the bulge in his trousers. "Or you might want to take a little more time to—er— fix yourself up before returning to the party." As she is about to close the door, Farren stops and says, "Hear me, and hear me well Severus Snape, when I say _never_ pull a stunt like that again."

She turns briskly on her heels. It is cruel a cruel thing to do, she knows. Some might even call it malicious. But it is his punishment for not listening to her. Farren will not, despite all of Snape's efforts, be the submissive one in the relationship. And, certainly, she will not allow him to jeopardize her relationship with Sirius even more than it already is.

Looking down at her severely rumpled dress robes, Farren stops, realizing that her disheveled appearance will probably be some cause for questions. She finds the lavatories and inspects herself in the small mirror above the marbled sink. She is immensely thankful when she catches a glimpse of her hair, which is even bigger than usual and has curls sticking out at odd angles. Her dress robes, as she had noted before, are rumpled and, worst of all, unbuttoned so it nearly exposes her chest.  
Farren watches herself laugh in the mirror as she imagines going back to the party and into Sirius's arms in this state. She imagines him looking both confused and excited by the near-nakedness. He wouldn't dream that she'd been with another man, least of all Snape. Partially due of his foolishness, but mostly due to his arrogance. The smile slides off of Farren's face at the thought, all initial humor gone, leaving the cold vision of Sirius's expression if he ever _did_ find out. She inspects the reflection more intently, leaning closer and thinking to herself, _this is who I've become. I used to be the girl who thought she was unreachable and alone. And now here I am, full to burst with feelings for two men._ Her former self would have relished the idea, but this self knows better. This self aches with guilt and uncertainty. Farren notes the round face which used to look fuller, and the heart-shaped lips which used to smile more but are now succulent with kisses, and the eyes which seem a darker, more complicated shade of blue. She isn't all that sure which one is better to live in or where she would rather be. But she knows, for a fact, that she cannot go back to blissful dreaming.

Farren extracts her wand with a small shake of her head, laughing at her own overly dramatized thoughts. She performs the necessary spells on her hair and robes. When satisfied, Farren gives a nod and exits the bathroom.

Sirius is no where to be seen when she returns. She exhales a breath she had unknowingly been holding.

James is Professor Slughorn's newest victim. He has cornered him at the concession table.

"—Brilliant mind, absolutely brilliant. But it will completely go to waste if you continue with this negligence of attending classes."

"I'm sorry, Professor. It's no offence meant to you. Your class isn't all that bad, actually. I just find it to always be at an inconveniently early hour. A growing boy needs his sleep and a mere four house won't do."

"But, my boy, what on earth are you doing staying up so late?"

Farren hears rather than sees James's grin. "Oh, nothing really. Just taking a stroll in the moonlight. But, in all seriousness Professor, I may bother to going if I had certain... compensations."

"Compensations? But I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."

"Perhaps if you could change my partner, I may feel the motivation necessary to attend classes."

"Change partners to whom, my boy? Because, let me tell you, I am not daft enough to pair you up with Mr. Black."

"No, no, not Sirius, Professor. Just anyone would do. Like, let's say for the sake of example, someone like Miss Lily Evans—"

Having heard enough, Farren budges into the conversation. "James! Oh, I've been looking everywhere for you. Hullo, Professor."

Slughorn beams and James sulks at being caught. "My dear, I thought you'd gone to get us drinks."

"Forgive me, I was unavoidably detained. As I am again now," she puts a forceful hand on James's shoulder. "Sorry, Professor! Gotta run!"

She drags the messy-haired boy away, stopping only when they were near the hallway door and out of Slughorn's sight. It is a quiet corner, secluded from the party. She is grateful for the privacy.

"Now James," she starts, speaking as though trying to explain simple math to a dull kindergartener. "I know you like Lily and I'm all for it too, but you're not going to get her by _forcing_ the poor girl into—"

"I'm not forcing anyone to do anything! It was Lily's idea."

Farren laughs, certain James is lying. "Why in God's name would she do that?"

He shrugs. "She hates her partner. Says she doesn't do a shit's worth of the work. And we're not at all like we used to be, Ren. She actually sort of… likes me. I think."

Farren realizes her mouth has dropped open and quickly closes it. "But you can't be serious! This is _the_ Lily Evans we're talking about. The one who declared to eat pixie droppings before she touched you with a twenty-meter-long stick."

"I know!" And James's eyes glaze over in wonder. But then he realizes what he's done and says worriedly, "But you can't tell anyone. Lily doesn't want anyone knowing."

Farren opens her mouth, unsure of what she will say. But she is saved by the appearance of Sirius, who looks surprisingly livid.

"Where the hell did you go? You left me there alone with the fat lard for half an hour!"

"I'm s-sorry," she stutters, taken aback by his anger. "I was trying to find Lily and—"

"I was getting _worried_, Ren."

James gives them both shifty glances. "You know, I think I'll go and find Lily too..."

Sirius pays no attention to him. His demanding gaze remains unwaveringly on Farren. "Do you know where the last dementor attack was? Hogsmeade. HOGSMEADE!"

Finally understanding the reason behind this uncharacteristic behavior, Farren laughs. "Sirius, calm down! You know we're safe at Hogwarts."

"Know? Nobody knows where we're safe, Ren. Hogwarts just hasn't been penetrated yet. And you, disappearing like that for forty-five minutes. And I know there's an erkling in the Forbidden Forest."

Farren, who was only just about to reassure Sirius of his silliness, gives him a sharp, quizzical look. "How did you hear about that?"

"Does that really matter right now?!"

And, as though on queue, Snape walks through the hallway door, looking particularly vengeful.

"Would you like to be a little bit louder, Black? I think a few people in Brazil couldn't hear you."

Sirius's anger changes. Like a dog diverted to the real danger, he braces his body slightly, grabs Farren possessively around the waist, and lowers his voice to a rumbling growl.

"Sirius," Farren warns.

"You stay out of this Snivelus," he spits, looking at the significantly taller boy with the utmost revulsion. "I didn't know Sluggy invited socially retarded prats like you to his parties."

His eyes flash dangerously. "And I didn't know he invited attempted murderers either."

Farren stops short of saying Sirius's name again. "What?"

Sirius's gaze flickers doubtfully at her and Snape's face twists into a malicious delight. "You mean, you haven't told her yet?"

To Farren's astonishment, panic floods Sirius's eyes. "You shut your mouth, Snivilus," he says in a strangled whisper.

"What does he mean, Sirius?"

No answer.

"Tell me what he means," she says more heavily, frightened of his silence. "Answer me, Sirius."

But it is Severus who answers. "During our fifth year your dear Black decided to pull a little prank—"

Sirius makes a strange noise that is halfway between a protest and a groan.

Snape smirks. "A prank that would have killed me, if it hadn't been for Potter chickening out."

"No," he croaks. "That's not how it happened."

Severus snarls. "No, it's not. The actual details of the occurrence make it so much worse."

"Then tell me the details," she says, her blood quickened with alarm.

"I can't," Snape hisses through gritted teeth. "Dumbledore forbade me to speak of it."

"Why? What happened—Sirius, tell me!"

He turns to her and only then does Farren understand the gravity of the situation. Gripping her arms, Sirius begins to speak quickly. "Farren, please believe me. You can't understand. I—"

"Don't tell her what she can and cannot understand, Black!" Severus snaps, becoming furious. "There is nothing but your idiocy to understand—!"

"I didn't mean to do it!"

"You told me how to get past the tree!"

"You shouldn't have been snooping—!"

"DON'T—" Snape looks demented with rage, his motions becoming steadily jerkier. "—DON'T YOU DARE DEFEND YOURSELF!"

Sirius stops, looks down and momentarily closes his eyes. It is a gesture of surrender and Farren nearly cries with exasperation. He can't give up—he can't! He is Sirius Black and if he admits to defeat, then that must mean—

"No," Farren says. "No, there must be some mistake. This can't be right."

"Well it is," Severus sneers. And then he leans forward and whispers soft enough that only she hears. "How does it feel to know that we're all villains?"

Farren slaps him. "You're wrong." She begins to step away. "And I can't look at either of you right now."

Someone says her name but she doesn't listen. She runs back into the unknowing crowd of partiers. The sight and sound of them all seem to hit her like a ton of bricks. As she squeezes through them, an overwhelming sensation spreads throughout her body. Every sense is heightened and agonizing. The sound is too loud, the light too bright, and every brush on her skin is like fire.

She hates this. All these people who don't really care about her but pretend to. Like Slughorn, who is only interested in her success, or James who only wants a connection to Lily, and _them_. Who must only be with her for sex or fun or—

They're all fake leeches. They're like that erkling in the Forest who made her believe it loved her when, in reality, it hungered for her skin. She needs the person who had saved her from that monster. The person, or creature, which she is sure can save her now…

Reaching the forest had never been easier than that night. Most of the teachers and prefects are at the party and Filch is no where to be found. Before she can fully realize what she is doing, Farren reaches the small alcove on the skirts of the Forbidden Forest. He isn't there, but this does not discourage her much. Farren sits down in the center and closes her eyes.

She can feel her pulse thumping against her neck, awakened by the new information she had just heard. There must be some mistake, she is certain of it. Snape is the one with blood on his hands, the marked one. Sirius is her sanity, the balancing act to her relationship with Severus…

But she keeps hearing Snape's words whispered to the steady sound of her breathing.

_How does it feel to know we're all villains? _

If Sirius really does have so much hate him—

_How does it feel to know we're all villains? _

What does that say about her?

_How does it feel to know we're all villains?_

It means that they're _all_ villains. Including her.

_How does it feel…_

The beat is suddenly interrupted by a much louder noise. Farren strains to confirm the sound and, like a bell in a church, the sound rings and feels at home in her ears.

The hooves come closer and closer before finally they cease with a swift brake from the centaur's legs.

"Miss Graham," Cheiron says and Farren smiles, eyes still shut.

"Cheiron," she breathes, relief flooding over her by the sight of him. "Oh, Cheiron you've no idea how wonderful it is to see you."

"I feel your distress is very great. It makes the forest air heavy." He steps forward and falls gracefully onto the grass beside her. "My mind is weighted with your frantic thoughts."

"Is that how you knew I was here?"

"Partially," he says ambiguously.

Farren studies the centaur, remembering how The Prince had described him. He has definitely aged. But Farren understands what Eileen had meant about the almost unearthly maturity. "I've read some of the diary," she states.

He nods, face unfeeling. "To what part?"

Farren opens and closes her mouth several times, unsure of how to phase it. She decides to answer with a question. "She really loved her, didn't she?"

"Which one, Eileen?"

"Yes—no... Both."

For the first time, true emotion crosses the wise, knowing face. "I learned very much from them. More than I have learned in the 30 years following their departure." He turns his powerful stare on her. "You remind me of her. Eileen Prince, that is."

"I do? I would have thought I was more like Ella."

He shakes his head. "In appearance, perhaps. But in fight and thought and sarcasm, you much more resemble Eileen."

Farren tries to suppress a small smile. She is glad that, for once, she is though of as the smart one. "Thank you."

"And there is something in the eyes." He lifts her chin absently to inspect their depths. "Hers were a much darker shade of blue—nearly black. But there is a unique sort of hope..." Cheiron releases her with a slight shake of the head. "Forgive me; I am getting caught up in memory. I have not spoken of them in 30 years."

"No, please," Farren says quickly. "I love hearing about them."

"Do you really?"

She nods.

"Why?"

"Oh, I... I'm not sure. I guess because by learning and understanding them, I learn about myself."

"And what have you learned about yourself?"

This question stumps Farren. "I don't know. I don't think there's a straight answer."

She laughs nervously, but Cheiron remains stern in her awkwardness. "Who are you?"

"I'm... I'm Farren Graham."

"Yes, but who are you?"

"I don't know," she says, her voice becoming more high-pitched by the minute. His demand is beginning to panic her slightly. "I'm Farren. I have big hair and blue eyes and I'm short—"

"That's not enough."

She stands in frustration, the Gryffindor in her making her indignant. "Then I can't answer you're question! I—talk too much and I think too much. I'm a romantic and a pessimist. I think animals are better than humans. I've fallen for two men who are complete opposites—I'm a bitch!"

"Yes," Cheiron says rising to stand with her. He towers over her, making her feel more insignificant and consequently more defensive. "You've fallen for two men. Which one do you feel more for?"

"N-neither," Farren stutters, startled by the sudden change of topic.

"If you had to choose?"

"I couldn't."

"You must choose one. Does Severus not understand you more? You must like him more."

"No, no, I don't! Sirius keeps me sane. He would kill for the people he loves—And God knows people like me know how rare and special that is... But Severus is brilliant and the rest of the world has given up on him, so I can't... I couldn't choose." It is only then that Farren realizes the full weight of this fact and she allows it to sink into her brain. "It's either both or neither. I could never choose. Not really."

She closes her eyes, mentally and physically exhausted by all the revelations she has had tonight. She is still panting slightly with the effort of defending herself against Cheiron's sudden attack of her character.

His voice is like a beacon in her mind, clear and reasonable. "Do you feel what I feel now Farren Graham? Do you feel the emotions emanating from your pours, dissolving into the air and becoming the energy of the forest?"

At his words, a strange tingling sensation spreads throughout her body.

"Can you not feel it inside you? I can feel your impulsiveness: how you plunge into complicated situations on a whim. Your bravery: how you still love and attach yourself to people, even though you have been shown all the proof in the world that they will fail you. And I feel the rage," his voice lowers with intensity. "The rage that bubbles so near the surface and lashes without warning. Can you not feel all of that?"

She nods dumbly, the fury licking at her insides. "Yes," she hisses, thinking of Snape and Sirius. "Yes, I feel rage."

"What does that rage make you want to do?"

"I... I want to scream!" And without much thinking but a whole lot of feeling, Farren opens her mouth and releases all the poison that has made her so angry. The sound is loud and resonating—much more a roar than a scream. It is such a wondrous feeling that she does it again and again until there is nothing but air left. By the end her throat and skin are raw and sensitive to all touch.

"I want to run," she growls to no one but the universe itself.

With no hesitation, Cheiron leaps into a majestic gallop. She follows, racing with all her might to catch up. But it is, of course, no competition. No only is she two-legged, but short as well and not the most athletic type. But that doesn't stop her. She knows no reason or logic any more. She runs until her lungs are full to burst with exhaustion and the blood oozes from cuts caused by wild branches. But still, none of that could matter less. The pain is only felt distantly. Only the chase and the anger and catching up matters.

Her body, which she realizes is more like a vessel than anything else, has gone completely numb now. And at that moment she understands herself—her real self, with no exterior distractions. There are the things Cheiron had mentioned: impulsiveness, bravery, and above all else, ferocity. It's not precisely anger, but intensity. Only she, Farren, could ever differentiate the two because it is _her_ soul… soul. _That_ is what she feels smoldering like molten lava, drowning out all other sensation.

The floor is suddenly rushing toward her and Farren realizes dimly that her legs, with no brain present to command them, had leapt forward of their own accord. She isn't scared of the collision though, because neither pain nor pleasure exists anymore.

But something breaks her fall, keeping her aloft. It is actually four things—fur covered things that have retracted claws… paws. They are paws. Her paws.

All at once, reality bombards Farren and feeling rushes back. She is no longer only soul, but body too. And her body had never felt so strange. It is furry and lean and supple and—

"Beautiful," says a familiar voice.

Farren hears and reacts so quickly that her vision swims. Vision, she notes, that has sharpened thirty-fold.

"Absolutely magnificent," Cheiron continues, stopping in front of her and looking even taller than she remembers. "You must be very confused: you have just achieved the final stage of the animagus form… You are now a lioness."

She hears the words slither inside her new eardrums and relishes them. Farren initiates a powerful run around Cheiron, testing this new form of hers. She watches the gigantic paws make their heavy impact on the dirt, the claws concealed within them just begging to be used.

A bowtruckle watches the lioness's glee, not knowing that its camouflage is useless against her keen senses. She lunges, entrapping the creature under her paw. It scratches and lashes in desperate attempts of escape, which Farren finds quite amusing. She plays with it for a moment until the sight of kicking horse legs startles her.

The lioness avoids the hooves swiftly, growling and allowing the bowtruckle its frantic retreat.

"I warn you, Farren Graham, do not become so consumed with your new abilities. Do not become, as you humans call it, a 'bully.'"

The lioness stops snarling but remains in her protective stance.

"Do not be angry with me. I only have your safety in mind. Before you bite off much more than you can chew, be aware that you are not a fully matured lioness. As in human form, you remain an adolescent in animal form."

But Cheiron's warnings fall on deaf ears. All her life, Farren has bitten off more than she can chew, fighting people that are bigger than her daily. How is this any different?

"Now," he says bending down to eye-level. "What would you like to do first?"

Farren purrs and it sounds like a low chuckle. She flashes her new fangs and bounds over the centaur. She begins another chase, thinking to herself that the race will be much fairer now.


	15. The Fool on the Hill

Farren stumbles through the door, loosing her footing and only just catching herself

**Author's Note: **I think my beta abandoned me :(. I feel very alone. If there's anyone out there who is a beta, please contact me. I was thinking at it would be really nice to have someone beta who was also a fan and liked the story. So, if your reading this and ever spotted an error (because, lets face it, grammar's not my strong suit) or had a suggestion in any of the chapters, you perfect for the job.  
**  
****The Fool on the Hill**

_Sirius Black never thought that he, of all people, would be tied down. And moreover he never thought that the girl able to achieve this feat would be five feet tall, curly-haired, sarcastic, willful (to say the least), and headstrong. Actually, until quite recently Sirius had envisioned himself marrying a girl not much different from those he'd used and dumped over the years. He had imagined finding someone with the breasts and arse of his dreams, winning her over and marrying her (effortlessly), and living out the remainder of their lives in a child-free existence, shagging at every possible opportunity. The latter is probably still in the picture, but winning over Farren Graham—forget marriage—will be everything but effortless. And, her charm aside, Farren does not top the charts on fittest bodies in Sirius's imaginary book. He has seen and had better: countless women with bodies that quite perfectly matched those of the swimsuit models in those muggle magazines. And yet, Sirius finds himself being highly more attracted to Farren than every one of those other girls. This fact not only troubled him deeply but had also caused him much confusion. What was it about Farren that made her so undeniably sexy (for James had agreed with Sirius when he had confessed)? _

_"I think," Sirius had said while trying to make sense of it all, "I think it must be the confidence. It's not that phony confidence that most birds have. You know, the bitchy confidence that just means their insecure. It's real. Like she's seen enough that she doesn't need to be told she's pretty and all that bullocks… Know what I mean?"_

_James nodded. "Yeah I do. That is quite sexy. Lily's got that too."_

_Sirius had tolerated James's endless prattle on Lily Evans for so many years that he felt comfortable enough to discuss his inner-most feelings about Farren. He raised the glass of sherry he'd nicked to his friend and made a toast. _

_"To our women..." Sirius stopped, laughed at himself and shook his head. "Who am I kidding? To the women we pretend are ours but that really have our testicals in a nice, neat box under their knicker drawers for safe keeping."_

_He probably wouldn't have admitted to this fact under any other circumstances, but why bother pretending when you're drunk and with a brother who's going through the same thing? It's kind of like preaching to the choir. You don't really run the danger of getting the mickey taken out of you._

_James laughed. "Now that, I'll toast to."_

_Yes, that is the core of Farren's sexuality: assurance. She will sometimes lie there on his bed, utterly naked for hours after they make love, completely uncovered by sheets or blankets. It is usually he, Sirius, who forces her to dress, sickened by the idea of Peter or one of the other boys catching a glimpse and pleasuring himself to the image later.__That is another change brought about by Farren: jealousy. But Sirius has suspicions that this particular case of jealousy is not exactly unwarranted. He sees the way Snivellus watches her in potions, as though he too knows the arching curve of her hips or the slight indents on the small of her back. He finds himself wishing desperately for the Marauders Map Wormtail had gotten confiscated in the prior year. Maybe then he could understand what it is Farren and Snape are really doing while "studying potions." __He is well aware of the invisibility cloak stashed away in James's trunk. He knows the question could be answered with a simple and short trip to their meeting place. But the only problem is that Farren refuses to tell him where it is. She says it's because he and James would wreak havoc upon their meetings and sabotage her current O in Potions by angering Snape.__It is horrible, this incessant but unsure feeling of betrayal. He finds himself sinking into a near madness sometimes when the feeling is at its worst. Without meaning to, Sirius is sometimes harsher on Farren than is entirely necessary. He fights with her for minor slip-ups and she's cried a fair number of times (she's a surprisingly easy crier). This, of course, always ends with Sirius apologizing and the two of them having makeup sex. And then afterward Farren will rest her head against his chest and sigh something like, "Look at us, Padfoot. If I didn't know any better, I'd think we were happy."_

_Sirius would look down at her slight smirk and say, "Yes, I would too… That is, if I didn't know any better."_

_And then Farren would stifle a laugh into his chest and kiss him. _

_On some nights they will accidentally fall asleep on his bed. Farren will have all the intention of sneaking back into her own dormitory to lessen her chances of getting caught. But then she'd doze off in exhaustion and Sirius wouldn't have the heart to wake her. Her sleep would be fitful and full of mumbling and sometimes even tears. Sirius would try to calm her but she'd wake in a sweat. He'd kiss her eyelids and whisper into her ear, wanting nothing but to stop the small whimpers of fear that escaped those heart-shaped lips. But his verbal reassurances would do nothing in her panic and Sirius, very careful not to make any noise, would crawl out of the sheets and transform into Snuffles. Then he'd bound back onto the bed and cuddle dutifully beside Farren. This always worked. She'd curl in beside him and shape her body to fit his. Then, with a small mew of content, she'd doze off again. __When Sirius asked Farren why it was this always seemed to comfort her more than anything, she'd only smiled. __"Well, what was the one thing that kept you sane when you lived with your fucked up family?" she inquired._

_"Motorcycles," he said without hesitation._

_"Well, when I was a little girl, animals were my equivalent to motorcycles. Particularly dogs."_

_It gives Sirius a certain pride to know that he was the only one who could placate Farren's nightmares. She was the one who finally freed him of Grimmauld Place, and so he would be the one to free her of nightmares. And though he will never acknowledge it aloud, helping Farren and seeing her happy was the best sensation he'd ever known. It is rather humorous in a way. All those years of being sustained by sex and partying, and the one thing that feels better than all that is something as innocent as making someone else happy. Sirius would find it funny if it wasn't so bloody maddening._

_Because loving Farren Graham_ is _maddening. It's the best and worst thing that could have ever happened to him. While she seems to have liberated him of his past, she has also set a new inescapable trap. When Sirius thinks of Farren, he imagines the golden girl flittering around his heart, weaving in and out of its depths but always pulling back before he could catch her. It was a dangerous game and addiction he could not, for the life of him, stop.__And that's why he is here now, running like a crazy person around the entire Hogwarts castle. No matter how many people Sirius asks, they all seem just as unaware of Farren's whereabouts as he is. Finally, when it seems his search will end in vain, a Hufflepuff from her Herbology class tells him he saw her go out onto the grounds. Sirius doesn't even thank him. He just sprints down the stairs, determination pumping through his blood. __He will make Farren forgive him. He will explain. He'll jump off a building if he has to. No matter what it takes, Sirius will catch Farren Graham and she will love him._

Several books are sprawled on the grass, abandoned by the sleeping, big-haired girl beside them. She rests peacefully and deeply in the sun, the catlike creature curled upon her stomach rising and falling in sync with its master's breath. None dare disturb her, knowing all too well how that sweet, angelic face could so easily turn to one of wrath.

But one brave girl risks the infamous wrath which so many of Hogwarts's students have fallen victim to before. Lily Evans silently slips next to the blonde on the ground, moving a Herbology textbook aside.

"Farren," she says quietly.

…Nothing…

"Farren," she tries again.

The kneazle opens one lazy eye at the annoyance, but the girl remains motionless.

Lily takes a deep breath, trying to remind herself that she is a member of the Gryffindor house and would not be unless she were brave. And, this reminder giving her courage, she extends a gentle arm and shakes Farren ever so lightly.

Immediately, a tiny hand grabs Lily's finger with a surprisingly strong grip. She gasps and looks at Farren. Her eyes are open but there is something terribly wrong with them. They are strange, almost freakish and Lily realizes this is because the pupils are slited.

"Farren?" she chokes in horror.

The girl blinks and the freakishness vanishes as quickly as though it had never existed.

Farren smiles serenely. "Hello, love. What's wrong? Have I missed a class or something?"

"Y-yeah. Herbology. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh." Farren notices her hand clutching Lily's finger and her brows furrow in confusion. "When did that happen?"

"Just now. Are you alright? You seem a little… off."

Farren thinks of the previous night. She'd returned to her dormitory at precisely 5:30 in the morning, earning her a whopping hour of sleep. "Never been better." She sits up and Pandora mews in displeasure. Farren pats the kneazle and she quiets.

"She's gotten so big," Lily notes, pointing to Pandora and still looking a little shaken.

Farren nods down at her pet proudly. She feels an entirely new connection to animals now, especially those of the feline family.

"Weird that you only got her last Christmas. It feels like forever ago. " Lily studies Farren intensely.

She shrugs. "Not that long ago."

"Yes, I suppose it only feels that way because _so much has happened_," Lily puts more emphasize on the words than is entirely necessary.

Farren raises a dubious eyebrow. "We're not talking about Pandora anymore, are we?"

"No," she answers hesitantly. "I… heard about last night."

She sighs tiredly and lies back down, looking up at the cloudless sky. "Which part? The part where you never told me about James or the part where I found out my boyfriend is an attempted murderer?"

"Both."

Farren laughs humorlessly. "Yes, last night was full of fun surprises."

Lily watches her, worry shinning in her emerald eyes. "You know, I didn't tell anyone about James. He didn't even tell Sirius. If I had gotten the chance, I would have told you myself sometime—"

"But you didn't," Farren says quietly. Her tone is not angry, just hurt. Which usually stings more than anger. "You know almost everything about me, Lily. You know things I'll never tell another soul."

"Yeah and you tried to obliviate me because of it!"

"Regardless of how it happened, you still know. And I would appreciate it if the favor was returned."

Lily does not argue back. She nods and says, "We're engaged."

Farren shoots back up so fast that Pandora jumps in fright. "YOU'RE WHAT!?"

Lily shushes her. "I haven't told anyone!"

"Engaged? You can't be. You hardly know him!"

"I've known him for seven years, Ren. And you've no idea what it's been like since Christmas. I know how it looks, I do. But someone once gave me the advice to live a little. I'm so sick and tired of planning every decision I make like it's the one that's going to finally break me if I get it wrong. And it doesn't feel wrong. This is the one thing I never planned on happening and it's the one thing that feels…right. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Farren does not answer the question because it hits a little too close to home for her comfort. But she does hug Lily. "You could have told me. It's not like I would have teased you or something. Trust me; I have no right to tease you. You have no idea."

"Because you're having an affair with Severus Snape?"

Farren's heart stops. Her blood goes cold and a slight hum begins to ring in her ear. Her arms are still around Lily, but they've lost all intentions of being warm. "What?" she manages through numb lips.

"Really, Ren. Did you think you could hide this from me when I sit behind you in potions?" Lily whispers into her ear.

Thoughts race through Farren's head at what seems like 100 miles per second. She tries to speak, to defend herself, to stop Lily, but the world won't seem to stop spinning long enough for her to gather her wits. After several moments, she feels strong enough to face Lily's gaze. It is hard and blazing and painful to see. "Lily," she begs, voice watery. "Oh, please don't. Don't look at me like that."

"You have no right, as a fellow Gryffindor, to ask anything of me right now. You are supposed to be loyal."

"Then I ask you as a friend!" Farren pleads, her voice becoming horribly too high to control.

Lily turns away from her in either disgust, pity or both.

A dull pounding begins to pulsate in Farren's brain, coinciding with her thumping heart beat. "I beg you; just let me try to explain. I know it's horrible. I am a horrible, selfish human being and—" her breath comes short and Farren must inhale sharply to continue. Her throat aches with bottled emotion but she fights it, knowing that she needs to tell Lily. "But I… I don't know what to do anymore."

"How could you get yourself into a situation like this?"

"I don't know. I never thought it would come to this. I didn't know that I would actually end up lov—liking Sirius—Or if I knew being with Severus would be like this, then I'd never…" she trails off desperately.

"There is no excuse for what you've done, Farren. Sirius truly cares about you. He has given up so much for you, gotten into fights with his best mates for you. Do you know what this would do to him?"

Farren does not want to hear this. She wants to run away and curl up into a ball, clasp her hands around her ears and pretend she isn't going to hell. Instead she just shuts her eyes.

"He loves you Ren," Lily says softly.

"No," she croaks, having had enough. "No, Sirius may like me and he may have grown attached to me, but he doesn't love me."

Lily's tone is incredulous now. "What do you mean? Of course he loves you—"

"HE CAN'T!" Farren cuts herself off, surprised by her own outburst. She takes a deep breath. "He can't. He just… can't."

"You stupid girl," Lily says with an awful sort of wonder, shaking her head. "You stupid, stupid girl."

"Don't call me stupid," she mumbles feebly out of habit.

"That's why you're doing this, isn't it? Why you think it's okay? Because you don't think he loves you or that you're not worth it or some bullocks like that."

"No. I just… don't believe in teenaged love."

Lily scoffs in frustration. "Well whether you believe it or not, it's real. And the pain Sirius would feel if he found out is real too."

Farren looks up at Lily, once again braving the fiery girls gaze. It is at first as merciless as before. But then there must be something in Farren's face because she softens and touches her tenderly on the shoulder.

"Oh, Ren… what have you done?"

A soft moan escapes Farren as though she is physically being pained. Lily had voiced the eternal question she'd been asking herself for months. "Help me," she pleads softly. Pitifully.

"I can't. You're on your own on this one."

Farren nods. "I know." Something in her chest clenches with the guilt she harbors.

The bundle of fur which rests quietly in her lap feels greatly comforting. Pandora's eyes are closed delicately, her pink nose twitching every now and again. The vibrations from the kneazle's soft purrs rumble up her leg. She thinks back to the day Sirius had presented the gift to her, beaming proudly. Farren had given the kneazle its name without much thought. But she is beginning to believe that somewhere in her subconscious; she had foreseen what was to come. And she had pulled the Greek legend and taken pity on Pandora. "Do you blame Pandora?" she asks suddenly.

There is a pause during which Lily visibly struggles to understand this leap of logic. "Do I blame your kneazle? For what?"

"No, I mean the Greek legend of Pandora. She was a woman created by Zeus to punish mankind and was gifted with charm and beauty. She was also given a box which contained all the evils of man within it. Zeus told her not to open it, but Pandora was further cursed with curiosity. When she opened the box, greed, vanity, slander, lying, envy and pining escaped… I'm just wondering if you blame her for opening it."

Lily looks at her friend with a mixture of bewilderment and pity, suspecting she has finally gone off the deep end. But after initial incredulity, she concludes that she won't ever be able to understand Farren Graham fully, no matter how hard she tried; and attempting otherwise is fruitless. The best Lily can do is simply play along. "Yes. I suppose I do blame her. Zeus did warn her not to. And curiosity killed the cat…"

"I thought you'd say that. You know, everyone thinks that the act of opening the box was done out of weakness. But I don't think that at all. I think only a very brave person would have dared to open a box that Zeus himself told them not to."

"It was still foolish."

"I didn't say it wasn't. But bravery often is foolish."

Lily nods, resigned to the fact that Farren must believe in this slightly twisted account of the legend for sanity's sake. She reaches out her hand and touches Farren's thigh.

Somewhere deep inside her, Farren knows she doesn't deserve Lily's kindness. She knows the right thing to do would be to take her just punishment and refuse the mercy. But then again, she'd never been very practiced at being a good person.

She laughs shakily, hoping that it sounds more convincing to Lily than it does to herself. "And who's to say the world isn't better off with a bit of evil in it? How can you appreciate goodness without the contrast of badness…Right?"

Lily lifts her chin up and smiles in a sad, motherly way. Or at least what Farren thinks must be a motherly way. She wouldn't really know. Farren lays her head on Lily's shoulder, allowing someone to cradle her and tell her everything's going to be alright. It's useless, of course, all illusion. Everything won't be alright. Not now. Not ever. But she guesses that that's what mothers are supposed to do. They're supposed to make you feel safe while people are being killed and murdered and hurt around you, even when you're the cause of it.

"You're going to make a wonderful mother," Farren blurts out without meaning to.

Lily chuckles. "We'll see."

"No, I know these things." Then Farren grins into Lily's shirt. "You're going to take good care of James Potter Junior."

"Don't start with me," she warns, but she's hiding a smile as well.

They stay like that for a while in silence, not caring that people were beginning to shoot curious and suspicious glances. Farren finds she cannot care about other people these days. They seem less and less like actual people and more like leeches by the day. She is dreading the end of her moment with Lily: when they'd have to leave for the next class and return to reality, where no one understood that you meant well and forgave you for your sins.

And her dread is answered when Lily says. "You should probably get up now."

She groans. "No. Why? Do I really have to?"

"Yes. Because Sirius is practically flying over here toward us."

Farren raises her head quickly, trying to wipe all traces of the conversation from her face. She turns her head nonchalantly to watch him hastily meet his destination. When he comes into a more focused view, Farren notices how much has changed in Sirius since last night. There are bags under his eyes and the usually tanned skin looks more pallid and sickly. His good-looks seem like a ghost on his chiseled features, a whisper of their original might. Somehow this makes him all the more endearing to Farren, and consequently, tightens her chest with guilt yet again.

"Can I talk to you?" he says breathlessly, all his attention fixated on Farren.

She nods and Lily helps her to her feet. "Yes. I think that would be a good idea."

There is a split second where he reaches out to touch her but stops himself mid motion.

She feels another pang in her heart at his distress, knowing her deserves none of it.

She takes his large hand into hers. "Sirius…"

"No," he says gruffly. "Not here."

He begins to lead her away from the people, toward the outskirts of the forest. In some distant part of her mind, she registers that they are near the alcove. But the thought is distant because she is too focused on the poor, tortured boy before her.

"This is far enough," Sirius concludes, stopping her.

"Sirius…" she tries again, but he puts a hand up to silence her.

"Let me talk first…" He begins to pace and she watches as he runs his fingers shakily through his shaggy hair. "I am an idiot. No—I'm serious," he says when she laughs. Farren apologizes and allows him to continue. "I'm an idiot and I've been one all my life. And I have absolutely no control over my idiocy. I'd do these pranks and I'd know they were dumb but it was like in some fucked up way by breaking the rules, I was defying…_them_. Whoever _they _are—"

"Your family," she interjects.

"Yes. I think. I don't know. Look, all I know is that it made me feel better and less angry so I kept doing it. And once I… got out of hand. I wasn't thinking—or thinking less than usual and Snape was there—" He shakes his head as though trying to relieve himself of the memory. "Look all I know is that when I'm with you, I'm not an idiot anymore. I'm not arrogant or a marauder or angry… Well most of the time I'm not angry," he corrects. They both laugh, thinking of their numerous fights. But then the smile slides away from his face and, for all his broad and strong beauty, Sirius appears incredibly vulnerable. "I'm not any of those things I used to think defined me. I'm just…me." He grabs her shoulder in a tight grip and Farren flinches instinctively. Something in Sirius's face scares her. It is desperation—addiction. "And I can't let that go. If I loose you, I don't know what I'd do. Do you understand?"

She nods, a little wide-eyed. Inside, her heart feels suffocated under a weight she is quickly becoming acquainted with. She is beginning to suspect that this pain is permanent. A new wound to haunt her for life.

Lily had been right. She'd been so stupid. So very, very stupid. "I don't think you'll need to worry about me leaving," Farren says, not certain what she will do now, but sure that she will keep her word. No matter what it takes.

Something has shifted in her mind. Or maybe in her heart. Whatever it is, she knows there is no going back now. And at that exact moment, Farren made a promise to herself: she would die rather than let Sirius find out about her treachery. And the game had to end. They would play their games no longer.

"I know," he says, bringing her back down to earth. "But with all the messed up shit that's been happening, I can't help thinking about you getting hurt."

"I've told you before: I'm not a defenseless little girl."

Wanting only to avoid the resolution she feels manifesting within her, an idea strikes Farren. "Actually, I've got something to show you that will prove I'm not defenseless. Follow me."

She leads them further down the forest, into the alcove. Then, without any further explanation, she wills the beast within to come forth. Instantly, the already familiar tingling sensation spreads throughout her skin in tiny explosions of warmth and prickles. When next Farren opens her eyes, her form has been altered completely and she is closer to the ground.

Sirius's mouth is in the shape of a perfect "o". He seems almost paralyzed with awe.

Enjoying his shock, Farren slinks to him and wraps her supple lioness figure around his legs. She adorns the part of an innocent house-cat, taking pleasure from the friction created by the fabric of his trousers rubbing against her fur. She purrs imploringly, trying to get a verbalized reaction from him.

"Dear God," Sirius finally whispers, stroking her head. "You did it. You actually did it! But this is wonderful, Ren! Now we can all go out at night!" Sirius bends down on one knee in order to be at eye-level with the lioness. He chuckles loudly, his excitement equivalent to that of a toddler on Christmas day. "A lion: how perfect! Incredibly independent, brave, ferocious, confident." But then as Sirius glances back at their surroundings, a bit of his excitement turns to worry. "I suppose you couldn't have picked anything less conspicuous? Like a bird or something. I mean this _is _Scotland and you _are _a lion."

Farren growls indignantly and Sirius laughs his bark-like laugh. "I'm only joking. You're Farren Graham. God blessed you with conspicuously large blonde hair. If your animagus form blended in, it'd be quite uncharacteristic of you."

With an ecstatic and proud grin, he steps back. In seconds, he too is four-legged and furry. He nudges her with his muzzle and licks the lioness. Farren imagines what a sight they must be to behold: a cat and a dog playing flirtatiously. Well, as Sirius had said before, they'd never really been the most normal of couples anyway.

They initiate a game of tag, the lioness always able to nimbly slide out of reach of the dogs more straight-forward and blunt tactics. Farren allows her mind to ignore the task that is beginning to loom over her head. She knows she can't run away from her thoughts forever. But at the very least, she will post pone the storm for just a little while longer.

Farren ruffles through the piles of messy men's clothes, knowing that the blessed toxic must be there somewhere. Instead, her hands come away with a pair of undergarments festively patterned with leopard print.

"You would," she mutters, words already slightly slurred from the first bottle of poison.

It had started innocently enough—as innocently as anything involving alcohol could. She'd returned to her dormitory after having skipped the rest of the school day with Sirius. She'd lain upon her bed, knowing full well that in a couple hours time, she'd be meeting with Severus. Also, knowing full well what she would have to do…

The sherry had swum into her memory. Sirius had given it to her on April Fool's Day, whispering furtively, "just in case." And it had seemed a harmless act to take just one swig…or two…or the whole bottle's worth. And she is fine, really. Only moderately pissed. Kind of.

But it hadn't been enough. Which is why she is here now, looking for the stash Sirius had hidden somewhere.

But even after a few more minutes of tearing through the contents of his trunk, Farren only finds the bottom. She is growing slightly weary of the time Sirius would take to return from dinner. And her excuse of not feeling well wouldn't hold very well if she were caught waltzing around his dormitory, (_slightly) _blitzed.

But just as Farren sighs in defeat, her eye catches something odd with the trunks material. It looks to be a different color and texture than the rest. With increasing excitement, she passes her hand along the bottom and sure enough, her fingertips find a clasp and she pulls up the faulty flooring.

In that moment, Farren believes whole-heartedly that she has found the greatest discovery of all mankind: bottles upon bottles of sherry. It would have been physically impossible to fit such a vast amount of the toxic without the aid of magic. And, thanking Sirius's brilliant wand capabilities, she takes two bottles and swiftly scurries out of the room.

She sways slightly as she goes down the stairs, giggling when she thinks about why it is she is able to enter the Boys Dormitory with such ease. The founders had thought girls would be more _moral_. HA! Farren can be more bad than the badest boy, wilder and more uncontainable. And no one can stop her.

The liquid slides warmly down her throat. She feels such appreciation for being alone, with all her fellow Gryffindors at dinner. Without the influence of sherry, this might have upset her. But now she realizes how wonderful it is just to be alive, young, beautiful, supple.

Slinking toward her full length mirror, Farren watches her reflection. She glides her hands along the curve of her hips and torso. Why shouldn't she be allowed to feel sexy? Why do people think it's such a bad thing to enjoy your youth? You should never enjoy it to the point where it makes you feel used or abused or uncomfortable, but it's pointless if youth is wasted away with too much caution. People expect teenagers—good teenagers—to be carbon copies of adults: all business and politically correct. But you can be sexy and slightly reckless or a little too angry and still be a good person.

She thinks of all the other people who have thought her thoughts: teenagers of past generations. What had been different for them? They are wizards, so cultural revolutions that occurred in the muggle world did not have the same tumultuous affect on them. But still, she feels quite certain there must have been a mod-like movement during the 60's and maybe even a few hippies. It is impossible that the two worlds didn't shape each other, even if indirectly. Being muggle-born, she had been shaped by their world in more ways than one. Sometimes she even misses the innocence of it all: not knowing that this underground world existed and, with it, more wonders and horrors than one could ever imagine. She misses listening to the Beatles every day after primary school, taking such comfort in the rock and roll, which was as frustrated with life as she was.

Farren reaches into her schoolbag and pulls out the leathery green diary, opening it and smelling a strange sort of musk that reminds her of rain. She flips through the pages before finally coming across what she had been searching for: a date. _1945_ is scrawled in that eerily familiar handwriting she couldn't place.

_They really were brave_, she thinks. To be lesbian during the 40's—hell to be lesbian at all. She knows it hadn't been a conscious decision on their part. But still, they hadn't ignored it like others had and still do. They'd allowed themselves to love. Or at least Eileen had. She didn't know about Ella yet.

Farren retraces back to where she had left off, feeling a sudden swoop of hope. As senseless as it sounds, she is certain that when she finally finished reading the diary, all questions would be answered. She would know what to do with Snape and Sirius and the memory of her dead mother and grandmother and maybe even how to forgive her father. Eileen and Ella would help her because they too had been pained by their own feelings…  
_  
__Dear friend,_

_I cannot stop thinking about that letter I found in Ella's school bag. I've never kept knowledge from her before. Our relationship has always been quite blunt—almost to the point of rudeness._

_Ella is a very strong person and sometimes difficult to understand even for me, who has always been adept at psychoanalyzing human actions. There are times when I believe she is an open book, like when she speaks incessantly of her day its mundane occurrences. At those times, Ella appears to be someone of mediocre intelligence and moderate emotional depth. And yet there are other instances which contradict all I have ever established of Ella Mulciber's character._

_One time, when I was lying in the Girls Dormitory and reviewing for an Arithmancy exam, she moved quietly into the room. It was unlike Ella to do anything quietly, so I was immediately wary._

_"What is it?" I asked, expecting that Tom Riddle hadn't looked at her when she'd tried to get his attention or something._

_But Ella didn't say anything. And that was when I realized this time was different. _

_"What?" I asked again in a forcibly softer voice._

_Without speaking, Ella crawled onto the bed and laid her head on my stomach,_

_"Do you love me, Eileen?" she said._

_I stiffened and went all cold and emotionally vacant. _

_After several minutes in which I did not answer, she gave a watery laugh. "It's okay; you don't have to say it. I know you do. It's just…" she hesitated, "It would be nice to hear sometimes is all. So, I love you Eileen… And I know you love me too."_

_In all the seven years of our friendship, that was the only time those words were ever mentioned. Until now, that is…_

_And that night, when Ella seemed so unusually fragile, I realized something: we are both—or perhaps all of us—the same. No matter what else we pretend, each one of us is affected by love. Whether it be a lack of it, an excess of it, or because we yearn so deeply for it; we are all affected. And we don't all have to be unfortunate or abused or ugly to feel broken. Everyone is broken in some way. And I think it's rather better that way._

_And that thing they all speak of—call it soul mates or true love or whatever—is having another person who can make you feel just a little less damaged. And so you cling desperately to that person and give yourself completely to them in the hope that you will both survive it all; not exactly unscathed but relatively happy. Fulfilled. _

_The centaurs are right: their love probably is more pure. But purity is largely overrated. Only the broken, the condemned, live fully. And so I say long live the condemned. If we really are damned, then at least we'll have plenty of company in Hell._

_I'm tried of doing the charade. I will tell Ella everything. I don't know what we'll do once we acknowledge it, but I can't really care anymore. Cheiron was sent to us for a reason. The centaurs have powerful magic and I know he can help us. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that could either mean I'm about to reach nirvana or that I'm going to have my heart ripped out. I've never done anything driven by a feeling, especially none as powerful and uncertain as this one. But I'm beginning to realize I've been doing it wrong all along. And I think I'm finally ready to do the right thing and jump. If I crash and burn and no one catches me, at least I'll be too far gone to feel anything._

_Always,_  
_The Prince_

Farren smiles to herself, a twisted sort of pride bubbling in her. She understands now why Cheiron believes she is more like Eileen than Ella. It isn't because she's smart or any bullocks like that. It is because they were both fools. Endearing fools, fools which are hopeful and naive. But still so damn foolish.

From the beginning, Farren had known her story would never end well. When she had given in to Severus, she'd been fully aware that, no matter the outcome, someone would get hurt. But she'd gone. And she'd… loved. She winces at even the thought of the word, but she is finally beginning to accept the fact that she is in love. She hadn't meant to. She didn't want to be. But, there it is.

She goes to the trunk similar to Sirius's in its messiness, trying to occupy her hands and mind. She comes across a hard piece of cloth and removes it for inspection. It is the second part of Sirius's Christmas present which she had nearly forgotten about by now. The black, lacy corset looks oddly inviting. She begins to strip one article of clothing at a time. It isn't as uncomfortable as expected and fits rather nicely. She's no super model, but Farren adores her imperfections at the moment. Her eyes are fierier than any cow of a model. Her body rings with resilience and rebellion. Her hips are too wide and she's too short and she's in love with two men. She's condemned. She is completely and utterly _fucked_. And maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's the Prince's words, but she couldn't be more exhilarated. The feeling won't last, but she embraces it for all it's worth.  
Defiance pumping in her, Farren covers the corset with her regular school clothes. She grabs the sherry and stashes the other bottle inside her bag.

Luckily, most of the students were still in the Great Hall, probably polishing off desert. None bother her with trivial small talk and she has a direct path to her destination. She does the necessary process to enter the strange room and the door dutifully appears.

Farren stumbles in with a little too much vigor, loosing her footing and only just catching herself. Instantly, someone is beside her, cool fingers protectively grasping her arm.

"Are you alright?" Severus asks.

She chuckles. "Peachy."

When she looks up into his face, Farren notices his clever gaze calculating the situation. They dart from her too rosy cheeks, then to her haphazardly buttoned outfit, and finally to her wobbly stance. "Are you drunk?"

Weakly, Farren attempts to escape his grasp. "No…Well, only a little." After a few moments of sluggish struggle she surrenders and, feeling suddenly exhausted, rests her head against his chest. "Well, maybe a lot." But, remembering something, Farren becomes animated again and extracts the unopened bottle. "But I brought you some too!"

Snape gives the sherry a withering look. "I think you're pissed enough for the both of us."

She laughs, uncoordinatedly wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're funny, Severus. You don't try to be, but you are."

He snorts. "One of my many attributes."

Farren inspects his face with a fresh wave of wonder. She can't understand people who don't find him beautiful. The large nose is not unattractive, but rather strong and masculine. And his bone structure, in contrast, remains still boyishly young. And the eyes, of course, eternally mesmerizing now that she knows their secret.

"Farren," he says softly. There are two sides to Snape's voice: either angry, sarcastic, and sexy or very honest and vulnerable. At present, it is stuck in the latter. "Farren, why are you getting drunk on a school night?"

Her previous excitement vanishes when she hears the one question she wishes not to think about. For the second time, she tries to wiggle out of his hold. This time she is partially successful, but then trips over her own feet and sends them both tumbling to the ground.

Farren bursts into peels of that earsplitting laughter, the booze dulling the pain. But Snape furiously scrambles to his feet, grunting and grumbling. She only manages to catch a few of his muttered words, none of which are complimentary to her character.

"Oh, don't be a kill-joy," she giggles, still on the ground.

"A kill-joy? Here you are, acting like a bumbling, drunken buffoon while I have actual work that needs to be done. You think that because you don't do any of the work, it just magically does itself. Well, it doesn't Farren—I do it!"

Farren stops laughing, unprepared for this harsh slap of reality. "Well, excuse me for trying to live a little. How very silly of me. I must have forgotten that I was talking to my father—"

At that moment a powerful force yanks her violently to her feet. Farren cries out in pain and surprise. "Ow! What the—" she begins to protest, but stops when Snape's face comes into view.

"Never call me your father," he hisses, so close to her that she feels his breath on the nape of her neck. "Never, do you understand?"

Farren nods, startled by his sudden vehemence. She hadn't meant it like that.

"Good." Snape pushes her away with equal amount of forcefulness. After a long pause he suddenly snaps, "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that! With those wide eyes—like I just killed your damn, bloody puppy. Makes me feel like a bloody pedophile!"

Farren turns away, ashamed that tears were welling in her eyes and knowing they would only anger him further. This hadn't been how she'd wanted their last meeting to be like. She hates when he gets like this. He is the only person in the world who has the ability to make her feel so ashamed. With everyone else, Farren is able to write them off as being jealous or stupid or wrong when they try to discipline her. But Snape is her equal. He is her mirror, mercilessly revealing her every defect.

Feeling an inevitable sob coming on, Farren buries her face in her hands. When it does come, she manages to silence it enough so that it is only a hiccup.

But it is not silent enough to fool him. She hears his footsteps and though her eyes are closed, Farren knows he is directly behind her. It may only be her mind playing tricks, but Farren is almost sure that she can feel the cold permeating from his pores and chilling her skin.

For several moments they stay like that, centimeters apart but not touching. Her tears have stopped but she does not feel ready to turn around and face him yet. Then, in the silence, Farren identifies a sound that must be the ruffling of his robes. Snape mutters something inaudible and instantly a string of what looks like film appears before her.

Utterly bewildered, she watches the hovering film. It is of two crude caricatures, one with a comically large triangle for a nose and the other with comically large hair. The large-nosed figure jumps up and down, presumably yelling at its partner. The girl takes it for several minutes without moving. But finally a giant hammer appears in the big-haired figure's hand and the boy stops, a large exclamation point appearing above his head. He attempts to escape, scrambling in haste. But the girl crushes him and he ends up as a large splatter on the floor, the large nose remaining the only distinguishable body part left.

Farren laughs as the cartoon begins to play again.

"Would you like me to conjure a giant hammer?" he whispers silkily into her ear.

Despite herself, a smile creeps onto her salty lips. She sighs and turns around slowly. "As tempting as that sounds, I don't think I'll need it."

His eyes flash in what she identifies as both triumph and relief. "That is very big of you."

"Don't go brown-nosing me just yet." She wags a finger at him. "My ways of revenge are more subtle than mauling you with a giant hammer, but no less painful."

"I beg you," Snape groans in true distress, "no more leaving me in broom cupboards with a stiffy."

She leers. "I'm not making any promises."

Snape bends down to kiss her, but Farren stops him. All the hope for forgiveness leaves his eyes and he returns to looking guarded. But that isn't why she had stopped him. In fact, she isn't quite sure why. Perhaps it is because of what she knows she must soon do. In her dormitory, Farren had promised herself she wouldn't think about it. She would enjoy their final meeting. But the alcohol seems to be wearing off now and there isn't much she can do about it. So instead, she grabs the sherry and walks away, taking generous gulps of the poison.

She dances to the table and picks up the potions book that, for never having read much of it, holds a surprising amount of sentimental value to Farren. The scrawled writing in the margins makes her pause, stirring something in her memory. But she decides to ignore it when she can't remember why it seems so familiar.

"Do you like making potions?" she inquires, turning back to him.

Snape remains frozen where Farren had left him. "Sometimes."

"When?" She takes a whiff of the potion currently brewing in the cauldron and wrinkles her nose in revulsion. Smells like Celia's sweaty socks.

"When it presents itself as a challenge."

Farren shoots him a cat-like glance. "Yes, you like challenging things, don't you Severus?"

He finally moves toward the table, simultaneously crossing his arms. "I think you already know the answer to that question."

She takes a whiff of the potion currently simmering in the cauldron. The smell reminds her of cheap perfume. It appears to be a beautiful technicolor. "What potion are we making tonight?"

Snape laughs humorlessly, probably because of the use of the word _we_. "_We_ have finished making Professor Slughorn's Beautifying Solution."

Her interest peeked, Farren swirls the liquid with the ladle. "A Beautifying Solution, eh? Don't suppose I could snag some for myself?"

"I suppose a spoonful wouldn't hurt. But, if you drank it, it would be at your own risk."

"Risk? Risk of what?"

He shrugs. "Who knows? I may have done something wrong. You could as easily end up with a unicorn tail and rainbow gills on your neck. I _am_ an amateur, after all."

Farren snickers. "There are many things I would call you, Severus. Amateur isn't one of them."

His gaze is challenging. He wants to make her pay for having rejected him earlier. "Very well, if you're so confident in my abilities—" Severus scoops the colorful potion into a mug and swiftly hands it to her, "—then bottoms up."

Farren looks from the potions, to his blazing eyes, and back again. She snatches the mug out of his grasp, giving a defiant flip of her hair. She already has a tendency toward recklessness and being tipsy couldn't help matters. So, raising the mug in a mock toast, Farren repeats, "Bottoms up!" and downs the potion.

It tastes of lipstick and other rubbery, plastic-like things. The cheap perfume smell fills her nostrils and she has a pressing desire to sneeze.

She does—violently. In fact, the power of the sneeze forces her to hunch over and nearly collide with her own knees. When she manages to regain her poise, Farren resurfaces and turns to him expectantly. "Well, do I have a unicorn horn?"

Farren knows she has gotten better at reading Snape's expression because she can now discern just a little disappointment. "No," he grumbles. "You look…beautiful."

"You bastard, you actually look _disappointed_!"

"I could have fixed it anyway if something _had_ gone wrong. And at least it would have taught you a lesson."

Farren laughs derisively, noticing as she does so that her chest feels heavier. Her breasts have been enlarged, of course. _Typical_. "You must have realized by now that any sort of lesson falls on deaf ears with me."

"You have too much faith in me—and my abilities for that matter."

She shakes her head. "Faith isn't the right word. It's too… uncertain. I've got proof of you abilities. Just look at my knockers." She gives them a little shake.

Those sarcastic lips twitch. "Now _that_ I did not know would happen."

"The hell you didn't. Does the rest of me look as whorish?"

"No more than usual," he retorts easily.

"Mmm," Farren purrs. "I love it when you sweet talk me like that."

A full smile spreads across his face and Farren basks in its rarity. "You'd think that tongue would get old after a while, wouldn't you?"

She answers by maturely giving him a good look at the tongue in question.

"So now that we established that _I'm_ right and that you are quite adept at potion-making…" she gives a smug leer, "why not do it as a living? After you graduate, I mean." As soon as the question leaves her mouth, Farren wishes she could snatch the words back. What an idiotic thing to suggest. He won't have time for a career once he graduates. He will live out his life-long servitude to Voldemort. "I'm sorry. That was stupid. I—"

"Stop. Please," his face is screwed up in something like pain, "don't. Don't apologize."

After a short awkward pause, Farren manages to bounce back with effort. "Well would you ever want to be a teacher? You've taught me for nearly a year now."

Snape's eyebrow rises skeptically. "Would you entrust me with _your_ child?"

She gives him a once over. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether she's a looker or not."

He snorts. "You think I'd fuck your daughter if she were my student?"

"If she had half my charm, how could you resist?"

"Don't forget half the volume in hair," he reminds her sincerely.

Farren laughs and flips her mane exaggeratedly. "Now," she returns, sobering and hopping onto a space on the table unoccupied by the cauldron, "what subject would you teach? Potions?"

"No. Defense Against the Dark Arts. That way I could torture the little buggers and not go to Azkaban."

"Severus Snape, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor," she says, testing the title out with a dramatic wave of her hand. She shakes her head disappointedly. "I don't like it. I much prefer something like: Severus Snape, Defense Against the Dark Arts _Master_. Or: Severus Snape, Potions Master."

He looks at her curiously. "Why Master? Why not just Professor?"

Farren shrugs. "Because I know you. You'd never settle for such an ordinary title. And anyway, you could never follow a name like Severus Snape with just plane, old _professor_," she says the word with distaste.

Severus shakes his head. "You know, the most frightening part of it all is that I'm beginning to understand your incomprehensible logic."

"Oh Professor Snape, sir," Farren simpers, ignoring his last remark and making her voice even more high-pitched than usual. "I have a present for you."

"What is it Farren."

"No, no!" She quips, "Call me Miss Graham."

Snape rolls his eyes but Farren knows he is secretly enjoying the game. "Very well. Present your gift then, Miss Graham."

She begins to unbutton her blouse and something in Snape's expression tells her that things suddenly became all the more interesting for him. The expression widens as she discards more clothing to reveal the lingerie beneath it. She glances down to inspect her own body, which has changed slightly to her annoyance. Not only is her chest larger, but her hips are more nimble and her legs longer.

"How very… thoughtful of you, Miss Graham," he says when she is finished.

Farren fights a giggle, trying to keep a straight face. She reels him in with her fingers and entwines a leg around his torso. "Anything for you, Professor." Placing a small hand on his hardened cheek, Farren kisses Snape. The kisses feel different now that she knows they will end. They are sweeter now—or rather bittersweet.

There is a definite sense of frenzy in the way they clutch each other that night, as though there are forces around them trying to physically pull them apart (which, in a sense, there are). Farren appreciates the beauty of this fact. That, despite all the horrors of life, she and Severus are still able to give themselves over completely to one another. That they are able to play a silly little game while the future promises mounds of pain and suffering. And that, years ago, another pair had also surrendered to themselves.

She realizes the entire world could be at war and burning beneath the fire of their own hatred, and still this young and very foolish couple would be making love.

Farren breaks away from him, gasping for air and feeling light-headed. He doesn't stop touching her, kissing her chin and neck. She wonders if he can sense it—brilliant and observant as he is. Does he know that their story will soon end in tragedy? Can he see the horrific visions of loneliness that flash, unbidden and fervently, before him as she can?

"I love you," she admits into the black fabric of his shirt, still panting.

"What?" he says distractedly.

A tear trickles down her cheek and she hopes he does not see it. "I said I trust this earns me an O, professor."

Snape chuckles. "Miss Graham, this earns you an O and a hundred points for Gryffindor."

**Author's Note:** Yeah so I'm kind of obsessed with The Beatles (actually, just the 60's in general) and I just couldn't resist the title. For those _uneducated_ (just a joke! Don't kill me!) bundles out there, "The Fool on the Hill" is a Beatles song.


	16. Never Recover

Never Recover

"Now tell me exactly what you're feeling," Madame Pomfrey commands in that motherly stern way.

"Like shit," Farren grumbles in a horribly phlegmy voice.

Madame Pomfrey purses her lips. "In more descriptive, preferably less vulgar words please Miss Graham."

"Right. Well it feels like someone's stuck a hot poker down my throat. I can't breath through my nose. I'm always tired but can't sleep. My body hurts like I've been beaten by the entire Bulgarian Quidditch team—And I keep blowing chunks—sorry—" she catches herself. "I mean 'getting sick' everywhere."

The nurse nods slowly and pensively. "Miss Graham, have you by any chance come in contact with any foreign creatures recently?"

_You mean like centaurs and erklings?_ "Nope."

"Then have you eaten anything strange—or perhaps taken a potion that is not part of your regular routine?"

Farren opens her mouth to give the same answer as before, but stops herself. "Yes, actually. I took a Beautifying Solution. For class," she adds hastily, seeing the disapproval in the older woman's expression. "We made it for Potions class. I was just testing it to make sure it worked."

"And did this solution contain any raw bird material?

Farren snorts. "Like I'd know."

Madame Pomfrey's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "But I thought you brewed this potion for class."

"Well yeah, we did. But _I_ didn't do it. Severus was the one who… Never mind."

Madam Pomfrey shakes her head, ignoring this breach of educational policy. "Well Miss Graham, unfortunately it sounds to me as though you've contracted the Fwooper Flu."

Farren groans. "The flu? But I can't have the flu!" She had been planning to go out with the marauders for days. Just her luck that she comes down with the flu two weeks after finally achieving the animagus form.

"Perhaps you should think twice before chugging down a potion brewed by an amateur."

"It wasn't made by an amateur," she protests. "It worked fine."

"And it gave you the flu."

Well she couldn't argue with _that_. "Alright Madam Pomfrey, then give me one of your world-famous potions that'll make it all better." She gives that self-assured smile, looking expectantly at the nurse.

"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Miss Graham. The Fwooper Flu is often very difficult to cure fully. You will need to take this," she rummages through the arsenal of medicine inside her apron and comes away with a small green bottle, "every night for three days."

"How long do you think it will take for me to get better after that?"

"Well if you don't see any improvements in about a week, come back here."

"A week—But that's ages!"

"Well it is not _my_ fault, Miss Graham. I did not make you drink that potion."

Farren scowls, thinking of who _had_ made her take the potion. Well, Snape hadn't necessarily made her do it. But he had challenged her, knowing that she couldn't resist a challenge…

Actually, now that Farren thinks about it, Snape does a lot of things to her knowing that she cannot resist.

****

As Farren walks across the courtyard, she notes that summer seems to have arrived. One day, the air had been cool and had tasted of a crisp cold. And then the next day, the heat pounded against students' skin like an incessant pulse on their shoulders. Now baking in the merciless sun, it is difficult to summon even the memory of cold, let alone a disliking for it.

Farren spots the marauders all resting beneath a large, shaded tree. Where they always sit. Even though she cannot determine each one's face from this distance, Farren knows which silhouette belongs which. Sirius is the one stretched languidly across the grass, shoulders squared and broad. James is messing up his hair artfully, sitting in close proximity to the only girl in the group—Lily. Remus is a given: the only one hunched over a book, which he clings to with slight desperation. And Peter. Farren feels her expression drain into a grimace as she gazes at the shortest, most gluttonous of the group. Peter seems to bounce ever so slightly, the pathetic greed and eagerness plastered plainly on his face.

Her hatred and disgust for Peter aside, seeing them all together like that makes a smile creep onto Farren's lips. Less than a year ago, she had observed the love in this group with an alien sort of wonder. She had thought about how impossibly foreign and unreachable it all was to her. She concluded that no one would ever love her like that. And now, here she is, walking toward them with the assured comfort that comes only from one who is surrounded by friends. Her grin turns impish. Who could have known? Farren, the bitch, the outward pessimist and inward romantic, the unapproachable, has found friends. And not just any friends—amazing friends. Friends she actually likes and might even love. Who could have known?

Sirius perks up from his lazy position when he sees her. He rises, looking a little anxious and says expectantly, "So?"

"Fwooper Flu," she exhales.

He makes a noise similar to the one Farren had made upon the discovery. "But we were going to go to Hogsmeade soon."

"I know; that's what I said!"

"How in the world did you manage to get the Fwooper Flu anyway?"

"She says it was a potion I drank."

His eyes snap up to hers. "What potion?"

Farren hesitates, cursing herself for not lying. "A Beautifying Solution—but it was just for class. We wanted to make sure it worked."

Sirius clenches his teeth. "_We_?"

"Severus and I," she admits hesitantly. Immediately, she realizes it would have been much smarter to say nothing. "Sirius, darling," Farren says winningly, her soprano voice ringing like delicate little bells. "Just drop it. We've had this discussion before. You're just being over protective and paranoid—quite unattractively so, I might add."

Out of the corner of her eye, Farren can see Lily observing the situation cautiously. It feels very strange to have someone else know her secret (Lily's good at making her feel that way). Strange and unnerving. What if Lily simply decides she won't allow it to happen anymore? What if she stands now and says, "Actually Sirius, your intuitive paranoia is more than justified. Because Farren is sleeping with both you _and_ Snape. Now feel free to rip this two-timing bitch to shreds. Tootles!"

Farren fights down the panic this vision induces. Lily will never do that, she reassures herself. She might disapprove, but she will never betray Farren like that. Unlike Farren, Lily is actually a good person.

Sirius doesn't say anything, and Farren guides him back down to the grass in an attempt to distract him. She kisses his initially motionless lips lightly. But upon her insistence, Sirius surrenders and Farren feels secure that he has forgotten or at least abated his anger. She rests her head against his lap and curls into a ball.

"Do you at least feel any better after going to Pomfrey?" he asks as he strokes her hair idly, like one does when an action has become routine.

"Nope. Still feel like shit. Now I just have a name by which to call this shitty feeling."

Farren's head bounces as Sirius chuckles. "How poetically put, Miss Graham."

She grins proudly. But the incessant exhaustion caused by the newly identified flu turns her grin into an enormous yawn. Farren raises her head delicately from his lap to accommodate the wide range of her jaw.

"Blimey!" Sirius gasps, grabbing her mouth and lifting it to eye-level.

"Oy—that's attached to the rest of my face, ya know!" she cries distortedly, unable to form proper words due to his hold.

"Shut up for a second and keep your mouth open," he demands.

Unsurprisingly, Farren disobeys. "What are you looking at? What is it? Sirius!"

Sirius ignores her, examining something on the inside of her molars. After several moments he releases her, grinning widely.

"What the hell was that for?" she repeats, massaging her face.

"You have fangs."

Farren pauses to process this fact. "No way!" Her hand flies to her teeth, searching for conformation. It comes with a sharp sting. "Ouch!" She retracts her index finger and inspects it. A small, bright red spot of blood has sprouted on the penetrated skin. "It… it nicked me."

Sirius bursts into laughter. "My girlfriend's a cannibal!"

She is too astonished to even think of a comeback. "But I don't understand—how did this happen? I didn't have fangs before—Or at least not fangs that penetrated skin."

"Have you been spending excessive amounts of time in your lioness form?" he whispers lowly, wary of the other students around them.

Farren feels a blush creep up her cheeks. "Sort of."

"How? When? You haven't been in the forest, have you? Ren, that's dangerous without—"

"Oh don't get your panties in a bunch. I didn't go in the Forbidden Forest. I stayed in my dormitory. Just sometimes when I can't be with you and get lonely at night, I morph and play with Pandora." She tentatively presses her tongue against her teeth, more careful this time. She makes out the distinctively pointier shape. "Do you think it's permanent?"

He pats her head, still smiling. "No, don't worry. I'm sure it will go away."

"Oh," Farren says, eyes downcast.

Sirius regards her with astonishment. "Are you… are you disappointed?"

She flushes slightly. "No, I guess not…"

"You are! You actually like your cannibalistic fangs."

"Oh, shut up. You wouldn't understand. It's a girl thing."

That kills him. He shakes his head, trying to hold back his laughter enough to speak. "I don't think so. If Celia or Lily suddenly sprouted fangs, I doubt they'd be jumping up and down in excitement. I'm pretty sure this is a Farren Graham thing."

"Alright fine, maybe it is. The thing is if you grow up being called cute all the damn time because your small and you've got ringlets and a baby face—" she makes a face of utter contempt"—then even the hint of something dangerous in your appearance is quite satisfying."

"So basically you like them because they make you look less cute?"

She nods. "Yup."

Still chuckling, Sirius pecks her lightly on the forehead. "Well I still think you look cute."

Farren glowers at him. "I'm not cute! _I've_ got fangs."

"Fine, fine. You're not cute. You are entirely dangerous-looking, Miss Graham."

She shoots him that feral expression. "Do you really think so, Mr. Black?"

"I know so. But I think we should hold back on the kissing until those lethal things go back to normal."

She gives an evil little smirk. The new fangs flash in the sunlight. "But what if I desire your kisses, Mr. Black? Will you deny this wild, untamable creature her desire?"

Pulling away from her impending, feline crawl, he says, "Ren, you're scaring me a little."

"There's no need to be frightened, Mr. Black. I find your kisses ever so…_delicious_."

Sirius yelps when Farren pounces on top of him without warning. She attacks him with fervent kisses on his neck and chest, his barks of amusement coming out in short bursts. For a moment Farren gleefully believes that she has won this time. That, in a battle of physical strength, she had successfully pinned and trapped Sirius Black. But Sirius, it seems, is not so willing to admit defeat. Just as she begins to celebrate her victory, he wraps his significantly longer leg around hers and renders Farren completely immobile. She is flipped onto her back before she can even begin to react.

"Now I've captured you, my wild, untamable creature," he murmurs.

Farren growls in an attempt to scare him again. But the growl becomes an involuntary giggle and obliterates all hope for a fear-tactic. "Fuck you," she says breathlessly.

"Please do."

Farren awaits the softness of his lips as Sirius bends his neck down to her. But instead—

"Ouch!" they both cry, flinching away from each other when an electric shock is passed through their connected lips. They look questioningly at one another for a moment before realizing neither had caused it. Farren scans the grounds for the actual source of the jinx.

"Oy!" Sirius calls back crossly to James. "What was that for, Prongs?"

Looking deeply puzzled, James responds, "What are you on about? I didn't do anything."

Sirius rises and returns to the others, arguing as he walks. Farren does not follow. It had not been James, she knows.

Severus is boring into her, his gaze like murder. She feels the cold prodding of his mind as it attempts to penetrate hers. She fights back. She imagines an impenetrable wall in hopes that projection is a legitimate way of blocking mind-attacks.

It isn't.

_I would prefer to keep the lunch I just ate in my stomach, please._

Farren slits her eyes angrily. "Shove off," she mouths.

Sardonic, biting laughter echoes in her head. _How I wish I could._

_Get out of my head._

A snarling noise comes from him.

Something odd happens with her vision then. It blurs, morphing into a similar scene with the same setting and people, but differing in positions. She attempts to make sense of what comes into focus and realizes she is watching herself moments before. A man is playfully struggling beneath her as she tackles him with her lips. Hot, adrenaline-producing anger surges through her as she observes the couple. And just as she decides that there is nothing worse than this feeling of burning fury at the sight, the two stop being playful and lean in for a true lover's kiss. It is as though someone has sucked all the air from her body, leaving behind a lifeless shell of a corpse. There is no more anger or jealousy, just pure, undiluted misery. A misery so complete she feels she will die with it. And, willing to do anything to end such agony, she lifts her wand and casts a jinx at the couple.

Farren comes back to the present and her own mind with sickening abruptness. She feels winded. Starring unseeingly at the grass in disbelief, she tries to make sense of what Snape had shown her.

It cannot, she is certain, be true or entirely accurate. Snape must have shown her an exaggeration of his feelings. Because it is impossible that she could ever matter that much to anyone. She is Farren Graham: the insignificant butterfly with no attachments to anything or anyone. It is silly to even consider the notion that she can make anyone suffer like that. She accepts the fact that she has unknowingly fallen in love. That she understands. But _being _loved (the real love that gives someone total and complete power over you)... That is just too hard to swallow.

…But it couldn't have been an exaggeration. Snape could not embellish memories; only show them raw and untainted. Which leaves only one conclusion: the pain had been genuine. Severus really had felt that soul-crushing, all-powerful torment that can only be caused by the person who holds your heart.

And she, Farren, has caused it—continues to cause it.

Wetness pools in her eyes and she weeps for him—for all of them. It is all her fault. All this suffering is her doing. She asks herself again how she could have ever been so stupid. How could she not have known that she was the bad guy all along? That the erkling which had tried to kill her had been no monster, but a saint trying to rid the world of this one particular evil. They should call off the manhunt at the ministry for Voldemort's head. It's her they want. She's the only real monster around here. And, like all other monsters, someone needs to stop her. Someone needs to rescue everyone else by ending her.

_Stop,_ comes the voice again, startling Farren nearly out of her skin. _Stop thinking like that. You're hurting me and I can't… I can't leave._

_What?_ she thinks. _What do you mean you can't leave?_

_I can't detach myself from your mind. It's not letting me._

She looks around, confused and panicked. Severus, yards away, is hunched over in anguish. The effort is etched onto his marble face, beads of perspiration visible on his upper lip. But she needn't even look at him to know what he is feeling. She can sense his agony like a ghost limb in her head.

_Stop thinking about me—or yourself, _he grunts. _Please._

She obliges, attempting frantically to think of something inconsequential—like rainbows or History of Magic or animals. Yes, animals! Lions and wolves and cats and dogs and—dogs. The black, shaggy dog swims before her eyes. Unbidden, memories of Padfoot flash in her minds eye, progressively worsening by the second. They become more and more intimate before finally landing on the night she had first given herself to him—

_No!_ he begs_. Not him! Farren—_

_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!_

The more she tries not to think of it, the more it creeps into the corners of her psyche. She is trembling in strain, horrified that she is harming him further and unable to prevent it. Tortured by the thought and reality as he writhes in pain.

"Ren!"

She screams and jolts when someone touches her shoulder. It feels like something is ripped from her brain, making a sickeningly wet squelching sound. Sirius is above her, hands raised in the air as though dealing with a rabid dog poised for attack.

"I'm sorry," she says in trembling voice. "You scared me."

"Ren, you're shaking."

She forces a laugh. It is not convincing. "I guess it's the flu—it's making me go a little whacky."

Farren is rather proud of her lie, finding it quite plausible. But Sirius's strange and dead-on intuition involving everything Farren Graham proves too strong.

He looks at her dubiously. "You sure about that?"

"Yes," she snaps, trying to sound angry or indignant. "I… I don't feel good. I think I'm going back to the dormitory. Tell Professor Slughorn for me, will you?"

Farren scampers away before he can answer. Her name is shouted across the courtyard. She ignores them. She still feels a little shaky on her feet, the cold sweat dampening her skin only increasing her discomfort.

Her frail state is more than merely a reaction to the unsettling realization about how much pain she has been causing Severus, though that had been damaging enough. No, it was having him in her mind for so long that physically drained Farren. What had gone wrong? Every other time he had retracted from her with ease.

Farren fights against the current as every other student makes their way toward class. No one attempts to get her attention, which tells her she must look as bad as she feels.

"Fuck," she mutters under her breath when she reaches the stairs. She never had been very good at remembering how it was one got past the moving stairs. Farren had found a solution to this problem by always having Celia close by. But that won't work now. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Just show me how to get to Gryffindor Tower, you useless piece of—"

"I don't think the stairs can hear you."

She swivels around wildly. Severus doesn't look much better than she does. There is a vacant sort of exhaustion in his eyes, as though he is close to fainting.

"Oh Severus," she cries. "I am so sorry. I couldn't stop thinking about… I'm sorry. Are you okay? You don't look too good."

"No, it is I who must apologize. I lost control. I did not know that could happen. I would have never endangered you like that if I'd known it was possible."

"Me? Endangered _me_? Severus I was hurting you. I—" Without any warning, she begins to sob. Tears cascade down her too pale face, flowing relentlessly. "I'm so sorry!"

It is almost comical to watch Snape as he struggles with his discomfort and attempts to calculate what he should do. The poor kid had only recently begun to pay attention to any of his own emotions—let alone the emotions of other people. He is not yet trained in knowing what to do when a desperate, terrified girl is crying her eyes out in front of him.

"Oh no," he says faintly, moving awkwardly and robotically to her. "Don't cry. I—you… Why don't I take you to your dormitory?"

She nods, sobbing too hard to answer verbally.

In Severus's defense, he does the best he can. He takes her under his arm, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly as Farren weeps into his chest. Farren is simply impressed he does anything but pull away in disgust and call her a twit.

It feels strange to be wandering the castle without the hordes of other peers. It is doubly strange to be held by Severus in a place other than their meeting room. Farren cries harder still as she realizes that they will never again hold each other like this after she tells him—not here, not in private, not ever. He would hate her too much.

"Stop," she says suddenly, franticly. The Fat Lady is yards away, dozing off in her portrait. "Severus, I have to tell you something."

To Farren's surprise, Snape does not look down at her questioningly or appear instantly wary or guarded. In fact, he does not look at her at all—unusual behavior for a man of his character. He instead moves away from her and toward the window, peering out onto the grounds they had just left.

"Severus?" she implores, puzzled. "Look at me."

He does then. And in that moment, Farren understands. He had seen her decision when he had penetrated her mind. She hadn't consciously thought of it, but perhaps it isn't necessary to be aware of the thought for the other person to hear it.

"Oh god," she whispers, his forcefully hardened gaze sending a pang to her heart. "Oh please don't look at me like that."

"You can't," Snape states simply. "I know you can't do this."

"Please don't tell me that. For my sanity's sake, I need to be able to."

"But you don't want to."

"Of course I don't want to," she says exasperatedly. "But I can't ever have what I want—"

Severus cuts her short, suddenly lunging forward and pressing his lips furtively to hers. The kiss is salty and Farren turns her head reluctantly, whimpering slightly. "I can't," she moans. "We can't."

She tries to pull away but Severus does not allow it. It may just be Farren's mind playing tricks, but she feels a slight trembling in his body.

"Severus," she says, more pleading and begging in her voice than she had intended. "Severus, please don't do this to me. We can't anymore."

"Why not?" Snape snarls with less composure than is normal for him, the hold turning possessive rather than tender.

"I can't do this to him anymore. I can't lie anymore. I can't sneak around. I can't cause more pain. I can't—"

"It isn't supposed to end like this. It's not right!"

Farren touches his check with her fingertips, but this seems to do nothing to soften him. "Lots of things that shouldn't happen, happen."

"And why choose _him_?" he bursts, completely losing all pretenses of indifference. "Because he's socially acceptable? Because he's good-looking? Because he fucks you better—?"

"Because he doesn't know! And because I gave him a promise first."

Snape punches the wall above her head and she flinches reflexively, letting out a little yelp. When his hand comes away, flecks of blood are trickling from his knuckles.

"YOU DON'T LOVE HIM MORE! I KNOW THAT!"

"I DON'T LOVE YOU MORE EITHER!"

They are breathing hard—like they've just run a race or made love. But they haven't made love and they wouldn't ever again.

"Severus," she murmurs, trying to touch him again, almost more to console herself than him this time. But the boy jolts away from her.

"Leave me," he spits, his eyes purposefully not meeting hers.

Tears mingled with misery and anger makes her hesitate. Even if he will never look at her again, Farren cannot leave him like this, with all too familiar feelings of being unwanted and neglected. "Severus, I won't ever stop loving you. I wish I could, I really do. It would make things a hell of a lot simpler…But I can't. I will forever be your prisoner. Because for some stupid, irrational, absurd reason I still have faith in you and always will. Because I know better than anyone else that you have good in you—unprecedented amounts good. I know. I've seen it—"

"Stop," he says gruffly. "Just stop, Farren. And leave."

Not knowing what else to do, Farren begins to turn away numbly toward the Fat Lady.

"_Coward_," she hears Snape mutter under his breath.

She stops. "What did you say to me?"

"I said you're a coward. The sorting hat must have made a mistake. You don't belong in Gryffindor at all."

Rage flares inside of Farren and she welcomes it warmly. Ah, rage. Sweet, delicious rage which can push away all those messier, more significant emotions. "How dare you!"

"Don't kid yourself. You know why you're really choosing him over me. It's because you're scared and he's the easier choice. You _coward_."

Of all the hurtful things Snape—or anyone else for that matter—had said to her, nothing hurt more than this.

In three quick strides, she is before him in all her wrathful glory. She snatches his left arm and rips back the sleeve to reveal the mark burning brightly against his alabaster skin.

"_I'm_ the coward!?" she bellows, shaking his arm violently in front of his face. "_I'M_ THE COWARD? YOU ALLOWED YOURSELF TO BE BULLIED INTO A LIFE TIME OF SERVITUDE! YOU LET THEM DECIDE YOUR FATE! YOU LET THEM ROB YOU OF EVERYTHING GOOD IN THE WORLD! YOU GAVE IN—_YOU_ GAVE UP!"

She releases his arm abruptly and Snape rubs at the mark upon habit, watching Farren with wide, almost fearful eyes.

Farren makes a vindictive sound that catches in her throat and becomes part cry. "Just look at yourself, Severus… Sirius is the right choice, not the easy one."

She turns to make her leave but hears him call. "Farren!"

Farren spins around to lash out at him once more. But before she can even open her mouth, his lips are to hers. She fights at first out of instinct. Thrashing around desperately, pretending it isn't the most wonderful sensation she's ever known. But then she stops suddenly and melts into the coolness that always seemed to remind her of how uncomfortably hot her skin is. She melts into his broken soul, which, no matter how badly she wants to, she can never mend. She melts into the life she might have had, the life that is now (she knows) lost forever. She melts into their goodbye. She melts into the realization that she had first met Severus Snape seven years ago, on a train making its way toward Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She melts into the memory forgotten until now, of two abused children, both freakish and strange in their own ways, making promises of ever-lasting friendship only to be torn apart by the whim of a stupid hat. She melts into the love that no one else can ever understand—the love that meant so much more because they'd fought against it and failed miserably.

Farren whimpers in one of the deepest surrenders and cups his face with her hands. Her insides burst with emotion and feeling. But almost simultaneously, a gasp sounds from behind and the moment is lost forever. She whirls around, heartbeat already picking up in panic.

There in the doorway stands Peter Petigrew, twitchy eyes big with shock. "You and…" he murmurs, astonished. He looks between the two like a cartoon character, trying to fully grasp the situation. And then suddenly his expression changes and his face pulls back into a twisted, malicious grin.

"No!" she cries, scrambling to catch the end of Wormtail's robes as he turns to run. But the rat wiggles himself out of her grip and is off like a cannon.

Farren hardly realizes what she is doing as she dashes down the staircases, chasing the stout boy in front of her. Her body moves of its own accord, her mind gone useless with terror. And yet despite the pure determination pumping resiliently through her limbs, Farren's short legs keep him always just out of reach.

The sunny green landscape is a blur to her when they reach it, partially because of the velocity at which she flies by and partially because panic impairs her vision. As the handsome and looming sight of Sirius Black comes into view, any normal person in her situation would have given up. They would realize they had lost. They would stop running, admit defeat, and attempt to salvage what shred of dignity remained for them. But Farren is not a normal person. She is a stubborn idiot. And even with the knowledge that her efforts will end in vain, she plows on. Nothing will stop Farren.

But then she feels a familiar stomach churn in her stomach as it fights the sickness she harbors. Farren knows what will inevitably come. But she ignores it, even as the slight trembling of her body becomes a jerking, seizure-like convulsion.

Wormtail glances back, feet away from his target. She gasps in horror. Because rather then seeing the sniveling, pitiful boy she has become accustomed to, Farren sees death starring back at her: cold, malicious and all powerful. Looking into his face, she realizes that for all the misgivings she'd voiced about Peter, she had completely underestimated his evil. And just as he reaches Sirius, Farren collapses onto the hard ground. An involuntary heaving buckles her onto hands and knees and she wretches the venomous bile from her body.

Panting, fighting to remain conscious, Farren lifts her head. Every sense is heightened. The grass blades feel like small knives cutting into her palms. She hears the blood rushing thickly in her head. She tastes and smells the vile sick on her palate. And she sees His beautiful face. As Farren gazes into the result of her own self-destruction, she knows it will be seared into her memory forever. She won't ever recover from that look. The revulsion and shock may have been sustainable—she might've survived that. But the hurt, the unbelieving, uncomprehending hurt is what kills her. Sirius is no longer the grinning, confident, jesting marauder she had known him as. He is the broken little boy who wanted nothing more than to be loved for who he was. The little boy who's desperate yearning had always found only lonely disappointment.

This is the last image Farren has as her strength wanes. She finds she is too weak to fight the darkness any longer. It envelops her, creeping in from the corners of her vision. Faintly, she can hear someone—a girl—screaming for her. The echoes of those screams ring in the darkness. But they loose their concerned nature and, in her mind, become accusations.

"_Farren, Farren, Farren…. What have you done?_"


	17. When I Lost It

**Author's Note**: Hello everybody—please don't kill me! I know I have taken a long time to update, but I had a LOT on my plate. And there was a slight case of writer's block I had to get over. But it's all better now because it's summer! I promise it will NEVER take this long to update again. This is also because we only have one more chapter to go before the end! But, never fear, I have a very lengthy epilogue planned so you'll get your fill! Alright so to recap: I'm sorry! And enjoy :)

**When I Lost It**

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she says weakly, swatting away at Lily's attempts to readjust her pillows.

Lily steps back with arms crossed. "I agreed to not take you to the Hospital Wing against my better judgment. The least you can do now is make things a tad bit easier for me by being compliant—or at least as compliant as you can manage."

"I don't need the Hospital Wing. I'm fine. I just need sleep."

"Farren, you ridiculous girl, you can hardly get your words out right." Lily touches Farren's forehead, a gesture which betrays her muggle-born status. "Just let me take care of you. I know you're not too good at receiving help, but you need it now more than ever."

Farren can't stand to look at her. Why is Lily so good? She really can't stand it sometimes—especially now when she doesn't deserve any form of mercy or goodness. But for some mad reason, Lily still cares for Farren. So to please her, Farren sighs and allows the girl to readjust her pillows.

While she busies herself, Lily glances up at Farren momentarily and suddenly stops.

"What?"

"I hate that look."

Farren is slightly affronted, unaware that she had been making any sort of expression. "What look?"

"That look in your eyes." She says, rising slowly to stand straight-baked. "Like you've given up."

Farren hangs her head in something like shame. "I'm so exhausted, Lily. Maybe I have. I think I may have."

"Don't ever say that. You couldn't give up, even if you wanted to—you're too stubborn."

She forces a smile, but only for Lily's sake.

She instantly regrets this however, because Lily takes this as some sort of invitation to pamper Farren further. She pushes a cup of tea toward her and, defeated, Farren takes it into her delicate hands.

"Drink," Lily insists. "I promise it will make you feel better."

Obediently she takes a small sip and swallows. Her lips linger on the edge of the mug, her eyes staring blankly into the opaque depths of its contents.

"You know," she says in a voice no louder than a whisper, "for a moment it had all been so sweet. For a moment, I think I was happy. I really was. I'd watch you all around me and I'd realize that I didn't have to be alone. " A sad smile creeps timidly upon her heart-shaped lips. It is like a fleeting glimpse of the sun Farren Graham had once been. But it flickers and dies as her thoughts turn back to the fixedly dismal present. "But it's gone now. Do you think I'll ever be able to get it back?"

"Of course you will. These things happen sometimes, Ren. And when they do, we learn and move on."

Farren remains unconvinced but does not argue further. She finds she has less and less energy to argue anymore. "Does Celia hate me too?"

Lily's silence is more than enough answer.

"Oh," she says with little surprise.

"I don't think it's anything personal. Celia is just not the kind to go against the crowd, and—"

"And the crowd hates me," she concluded flatly.

"Don't pay any attention to them. We're all leaving Hogwarts soon anyway. It won't last. Everyone is much too charmed by you."

"Lily, you don't get it. I couldn't care less what the school thinks of me. But Celia… could you just tell her I'm sorry?"

Lily nods, though Farren knows she doesn't understand. But Celia will. Because Farren had failed Celia. She'd made a promise to fix her, to help her fit in without compromising herself. But somewhere in the middle, Farren had gotten lost within her own world of problems and forgotten all about Celia. And worst of all, she'd never once confided in Celia about any of it.

"Ren," Lily says, interrupting Farren's less-than-happy thoughts. "I need to go to potions, but I'll be back soon, I promise."

"Oh, please don't. It's a nice day, enjoy them while they last. I'm not dying; I just have the Fwooper Flu. I'm fi—"

"Yes, you're fine. I've heard. And the sooner you understand that I'm not giving up on you, the sooner you'll realize I won't listen to a damn thing you tell me." Lily pats Farren on the top of the head. "I'll check in on you after potions."

And with a wave of her hand and a flip of her hair, Lily is gone, leaving Farren alone with her thoughts.

Though she has no real stomach for it, Farren takes out the Prince's journal. She reads back slightly to some of her favorite parts. And when she'd detached herself enough from her own world and entered the Prince's, she read from where she last left off:

_Dear Friend,_

_In a society of sheep, Ella and I are wolves. Our kind ignites fear in their sheepish hearts and bodies and minds. Our passion overpowers their meek attempts at the mediocrity they call love. _

_But all this secrecy limits us and is quite maddening at times. And for all its glorious wonder, love has its negative side effects. My general fear and anxiety has doubled—quadrupled. Because I have so much more to lose now. The stakes, so to speak, have been raised. It feels as though every possibility of happiness and fulfillment lies within this one entity: Ella. And sometimes when I look at all four feet and nine inches of her, I nearly laugh. Because it seems quite absurd that so much depended upon so small a person. _

_Cheiron is fascinated by us._

_"So you love each other? Entirely—body, as well as heart? How intriguing. It seems that human love is capable of completely ignoring futility."_

_Ella instantly looked cross and indignant, pouting slightly. "What do you mean futile?"_

_"I mean to say, as a couple, you are incapable of reproducing any sort of offspring. Scientifically speaking, your love is useless and illogical. And yet, you still feel it."_

_While I understand Cheiron's overly logical way of thinking, Ella cannot grasp it and becomes wholly offended. "Who cares if it's illogical! If I lived my life logically, I'd die perfectly correct and thoroughly unsatisfied."_

_Cheiron gave that bemused little smile. "You misunderstand me, Druella. I do not condemn or disprove of your relationship. I am simply commenting on its scientifically impractical nature. But I find impracticality rather beautiful. Why do you think I am here with you now rather than with my herd? I too find an entirely logical existence to be unfulfilling."_

_"Oh," she says, cheeks becoming rosy as she slowly sat back down. "Um, right. I knew that."_

_I laughed at her too quick temper. "I agree with Ella. I don't care if it's useless. She makes me laugh and that's enough."_

_Ella awarded me with that beaming smile. _

_Yes, we are wolves in the midst of a herd of sheep. And our illogical, useless, impractical love is all the more beautiful because of it._

_Always,_

_The Prince_

She can't read on. Not now, not right after her heart has been broken in four pieces. Farren lays the journal down and searches her surroundings for something of interest. But Farren has lived in this room for seven years now—there is little left to discover or even wile away the hours with. So instead, she uses the bit of strength she has left to morph into her lioness form.

Farren nearly sighs with relief. How wonderful it is to be an animal. No more incessant questions or doubts or guilt. Just the earth and its unwavering connection to your body and mind. For Farren it is a spiritual, almost divinely religious feeling. This, she believes, must be what those people experience at churches and synagogues and things; the reason why they keep going back. Because of this simple idea that one is connected to the world. But Farren doesn't really see the connection as god or an old man in the clouds. It's more like an impartial force that surges through everything, keeping all in existence.

Though staying in lioness form requires a bit more energy, Farren doesn't mind too much. Because, at the very least, it allows her to forget her pain or suffer through it in a detached way.

And she can finally sleep. A dreamless, shameless sleep with no images of their faces, distorted from expressions of love to sheer hatred. None of that. Just unconsciousness

* * *

When next Farren wakes, she feels the oddest and most pleasurable sensation of warmth and peace. Perhaps it is a hallucination created by her exhausted mind or perhaps the potion Madam Pomfrey had instructed her to take. Or perhaps it is the cocoon of blankets Lily had insisted upon wrapping her in. Whatever the reason, Farren Graham has a single moment of pure serenity after an entire year of chaos. She drinks it in and soaks every split second of it. The warmth is every gentle touch she has ever received in her life. It is the all-encompassing and long gone touch of her mother when Farren had been a new born. It is Lily's understanding touch which seemed to accept every one of her flaws. It is Sirius's longing, hungry touch which made her feel so entirely needed. It is Severus's marveling touch, as though he couldn't believe the girl he held in his arms was there and his. Every bit of love Farren has ever witnessed is in that one glorious moment…

It does not last. Farren tries to cling to it, but the aching in her body returns with double the force and her brain begins to throb dully once more. She is left colder than before, shivering, not with a lack of heat, but with the realization that she can never go back to the way things used to. The only warmth left for her now is Lily, who Farren will need to set free one of these days. Because Lily will never leave Farren's side on her own—she is too saintly for that. So Farren understands that, to free Lily of any responsibility, she will have to severe their friendship for good. She cannot keep Lily to herself. Even Farren is not that selfish.

And suddenly Farren has the strangest idea: what if she dies? What if she spares everyone else the grief and simply… ceases to exist? Right here and now on the bed she has spent so many sleepless nights tossing and turning? What if that moment of happiness had been God's parting gift before he removed her from this world forever. What if she ends here, in the dark, with the entire school's hatred on her shoulders? Without Sirius or Severus—just alone in a cocoon of now suffocating blankets.

Farren begins to sob silently as she feels death hovering over her. The kind of tears that the hopeless, but eternally remorseful soul cries. And a crow is cawing outside her window and she imagines it watching her, pity in its eyes. It is cawing—weeping—for her, for them, for all the horrible things she's done, and for the life of not only betrayal—but more importantly immense love.

"Of all the bad I've done," she croaks hoarsely to the crow, "I only regret what I did to them—the pain I caused. And the one thing I wish is that they knew I never wanted any of this. I never asked for love, I never planned on it. I want them to know how sorry I am…" Her voice gives out and she breaks down into incomprehensible noises and sobs.

Farren looks up at the hundreds of papers sticking to the top of her four-poster bed. They are all reminders to help her stunted memory. It had been Celia's idea during their third year after Farren had forgotten to go to History of Magic for the fifth time. Some notes urged her not to forget to eat dinner, others to do this or that assignment. It all sounds even more meaningless now than it did before.

Suddenly, an idea manifests in her mind and Farren sits up with a new found purpose. If death really is upon her and these are her last moments on earth, then she will not carry them out silently. She will not, Farren assures herself, end like her grandmother had: defeated and subdued. Farren Graham will make certain she has her final say; so that afterward they can tell everyone she was pushed into the grave, still stubbornly protesting and jabbering away. She retrieves her wand and points it at the headboard. She begins to magically engrave letters onto the smooth wooden surface and the little reminders cascade down upon her one by one.

The words come out of her like water from a faucet. Easy, calm, and smooth. There are no pauses to consider wording or diction or any of that. It is as though the words had been lying dormant in her, just waiting for her consciousness to catch up to what her subconscious had already figured out.

When she is finished, Farren lies back down and looks at what she whole-heartedly believes are her last words:

_How strange that with the entire world's hatred weighing upon my shoulders, I can summon only memories of sweetness. How strange that in the end, all that matters is how his smile ignited light within me and thawed through the very center of my heart. And how by touching his ice-cold cheek, I helped heal, if only minutely, his internal wounds. And how I loved them both so very much—how wonderful it had all been. How strange it is that in the end I think only upon these things and how I can never regret what I did for love. Because in the end, no one and no thing can take that away from me. Because above all else, I loved. And in the end, that's all that matters… How strange…_

With an odd sense of satisfaction, Farren settles back down into her covers. In mere moments she returns to her dreamless sleep, having exerted what little energy she'd recovered. And though she is in a nearly catatonic state, Farren Graham does not die that night. Life and time slug ever onward. And perhaps that is the worst part.

* * *

For the rest of the week she remains in the dormitory, Lily bringing what scraps of food she can snag from the Great Hall. Lily always rushes back with her food, worried it might get cold. It is nearly sickening to Farren how concerned the girl is for her health. But all of Lily's efforts end in vain because Farren never eats much anyway.

Adding to the guilt and hurt, Farren begins to feel cowardly as time progresses. But she can hardly get out of bed without over-exerting herself and falling back in exhaustion. How could she possibly go back out there now in such a weakened state? How could she face them all—with their condemning, merciless gazes? And Farren knows she won't be able to ignore those looks anymore. Because this time, they are right.

But one night when she has an unusual amount of strength, Farren decides to visit the common room. She does this for no other reason than to attempt to cure the maddening boredom and also to quiet Lily's insistence that she needs a change of scenery. However, Farren times this trip so that all the students will either at dinner or in their respective dormitories. She still can't face them. So it is to her surprise when she finds five people in the common room.

Celia pretends not to see her. She does that a lot lately—especially in the dormitory. She sits quietly in the corner, eyes determinedly fixed on a book but not moving.

The marauders were sitting on the sofa directly across from Celia. James is the first to see her. His eyes widened and Farren sees him instantly rack his brain for a way to get Sirius away, unscathed. But he does not move fast enough and soon both Remus and Peter have spotted her. It's too late.

Sirius, sensing the sudden quietness of his friends, looks around for the source. Farren sees his eyes slip out of blankness as he realizes who he is looking at. She doesn't need the ability to read minds to register the several thoughts that fire off in his head.

Fully prepared to abort her little jaunt into the common room, Farren begins to turn around. But just as she takes a step away, something stops her. She can't leave him like that—she can't be his nightmare. Farren sighs, returns to where she had been and walks forward.

"Sirius," she begins to say, not knowing what she plans to achieve by doing this. "Sirius I—"

Managing to come out of his shock, he shakes his head gruffly. "No," he growls, voice harsh as though he hadn't used it for days. "No, Farren."

She has never heard his voice like that. It kills her. And before she can stop herself she is rushing toward him, to comfort him or touch him or do something that would make it all go away.

Instantly, James stands up and pushes her back.

"What? I just want to talk to him! Please, James."

"No, Farren. Just don't. Just go."

"Please I just want to explain—"

"You lost the privilege to explain yourself the moment you touched that disgusting boy." This time it is Sirius. And through James' slender figure, Farren glimpses the pure loathing in those grey eyes. "You whore," he spits.

"Sirius I never meant for any of this to happen—I never thought it'd come to this. You have to believe me!"

And before Sirius can chuck out another insult, Peter Petwigrew pipes up. "Why should he believe anything a pathetic little slut like you would say? Just turn around and scurry along to your rabbit hole."

That's when Farren loses it. She feels the anger bubble inside her. Shoving James away, she goes directly for the stout little boy. Grabbing him by the shirt collar, she throws him against the wall with strength she cannot remember possessing. Somebody gasps and James shouts, "Ren, no!"

"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME PATHETIC!?" she snarls at him, barring her fanged teeth with every word. "YOU REVOLTING PIECE OF VERMIN! I MAY HAVE CHEATED BUT AT LEAST I TRULY LOVED HIM!" Hands are grabbing at her as the boy chocked in her grasp. She ignores them. "You watch out, Wormtail. Because I see who you are. I see your pathetic squirming when you sense the slightest hint of danger. You don't give a rat's ass for anyone but yourself. I see your cowardly core. I know how preciously you value your sorry skin. I know people like you, Peter Pettigrew. I was raised by a person like you. And don't you EVER call me pathetic!"

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Something burns her hand and Farren drops Wormtail. She cries out in pain, seeing that her hand has suffered a minor wound. Looking around, her eyes land on Sirius with his wand pointed directly at her heart.

"Get out," he croaks.

Dumbfounded, Farren looks back at him. She'd known he hated her, but there is nothing like cold, hard, physical evidence. And there it is on her charred hand. Farren never thought he could hurt her like that.

"NOW! GET OUT _NOW_!"

Not knowing what else to do, she obeys. As she's leaving to go up the stairs, she turns back and sees the three of them surrounding Peter. They comfort him, console him, and ask whether it hurts anywhere. Farren has never felt so isolated in her life. Here she is, back to gazing longingly at friendship and love. Only this time it's ten times worse. This time, there is no hope.

When she gets back to the dormitory, she's shaking. The source of the unexpected amount of strength becomes apparent. Farren feels her lioness pacing within her, demanding she let it out. It is as though the beast is slowly taking over and her thoughts, manners, even appearance were all becoming gradually less human. Unable to contain it, the transformation begins without her even summoning it. Farren feels the initial tingle trickle down her spine. But just as she relaxes her bones into the form, something goes horribly wrong. The warmth becomes a licking, molten heat that seems to seize her corpse. Farren is paralyzed, the tears on her cheeks becoming icicles on her burning flesh. For an agonizing moment, Farren remains in that aching state. It is as though thousands of minuet needles are being hammered into her pores.

After what feels like a century, the pain mercifully eases and she inhales a rasp of cool air. Terrified, Farren scrounges for her bed still reeling and pulsating. The reason behind the occurrence seems obvious, but refusing to admit the truth, she searches for others. It can't be…it can't be…it can't be…

She can't transform. When Farren really needed it most, magic failed her. Just like everything and everybody else always has. If she hadn't been so numb, she'd cry.

Resulting to her very last form of escape, she reaches for the old, leather journal. Touching the cover with her fingertips, Farren realizes that this is how it will be from now on. Her life will be a series of escapisms—a series of desperate, almost frantic attempts to forget. She thinks of what Lily would say to her: "It'll pass—it'll get better Ren. Everyone gets hurt, everyone loses love. You'll heal like everyone else."

But she won't. Somewhere in the depths of her heart and mind, Farren knows it is more than that. She lived sixteen years without love and she survived. She lived comfortably—if not vicariously. But it had been so closely in her grasp, she'd gotten so tantalizingly near true happiness. But it is gone now. And she'd fallen too far down to go back to how it used to be or try again.

Resigned to this life of existence, she opens the Prince's journal and beings to read:

_Dear Friend,_

_It's all over. Ella doesn't want me anymore. All this time I thought she loved me but I forgot the most important thing—she loves herself more. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin._

_She tried to tell me it was best. She tried to deceive me into thinking she was doing it for me. She said she couldn't stay with me because she couldn't stand putting _me_ through such a thing. She couldn't ask _me_ to throw away all my hard work over the years at school just for her. I slapped her._

_"If you're going to break my heart to save your own sorry skin, don't you dare try to look all noble about it. You're a pathetic coward—you're a whore. And you'll live the rest of your life miserable and unloved," I said._

_Quick tears fell fast down her face. "Do you really mean that? Or is it just easier to let go if you believe it?"_

_I wanted to answer but for the first time, I was left speechless._

_"Because if it makes it easier, I'll let you think that. Because I love you and all I ever wanted was what was best for you." She grabbed my hands. I was too numb to react. "Eileen, they'll eat us alive out there. You have to know that. You know we have no chance of normalcy or anything. Eileen I'm doing this for you. You're strong, but you deserve a better life than I could ever give you."_

_"Leave. Just go." I couldn't look at her._

_She nodded understandingly. And for the last time, I felt her sweet press of lips against my cheek. "Goodbye, my prince. I'll never forget how you loved me."_

_And then she left…_

_…I can't believe it's all over. _

_By this time next month my Ella will be Druella Black. And I will remain Eileen Prince, unchanged. Now and forever. _

_Always,_

_The Prince_

Farren stares fixedly at the page for a moment. After the shock wears out, she frantically flips through the rest of the pages, certain that there is more. There has to be more—it could not end there.

But it had and it has. Every other page is blank. Unbeknownst to Farren, all this time the green journal had been half empty. Unfinished. Incomplete. Useless. All this time she thought she would get a fairy tale—a story. But instead she has gotten this abrupt, unwarranted termination.

Her last piece of escape and it is gone. Forever. She feels betrayed. By Ella, by Eileen, by Cheiron. And this time instead of crying, Farren gets angry. More angry than she has ever felt in her life.

Scrambling out of bed, Farren teeters slightly on her feet. She snatches the journal from her bed along with her wand and forces her wobbly legs to move forward.

Every secret passage echoes of Sirius and smells of how things used to be. It may be her exhaustion, or the sickness or maybe Farren has finally gone off the deep end—but she swears she can almost hear that booming, barking laughter.

There are too many stars in the sky that night. Instead of looking beautiful, the stars make the sky looks torn, broken and ripped to pieces.

In some distant part of her brain, Farren realizes how stupid she is being as she enters the forest, unprotected except for the little stick of wood in her hand. But more than ever, she can't care less. In that moment, it truly hits home that she had nothing left to live for. Her life, if it ended, would not matter.

She senses eyes on her, lurking in the darkness. The utter lack of fear only further demonstrates how gone she is from reality. Instead of running, she only takes a lung full of breath and bellows, "CHEIRON!"

The eyes she felt boring into her come forth and the centaur looks as always. Completely calm, he answers, "Yes Farren Graham?"

That is enough to set her off. His nonchalant manner is the twist of the knife in her gut and Farren loses it again. She hurls the diary in hand at Cheiron with all the might she had. "HOW COULD YOU GIVE THIS TO ME!? HOW COULD YOU LET ME READ THIS?" Her small fists pound against his statue-like chest, undoubtedly harming herself more than him. "They lost! They gave up! So what's the point?—WHAT'S THE POINT IF YOU ALWAYS LOSE—!"

His face is blank, showing no signs of pain or even annoyance as she continues to beat into him vainly. After several moments Farren gasps and collapses, unable to breathe through the exhaustion and tears. She remains on the ground, rubbing her swelling knuckles and heaving uncontrollably. In fact, her heaves are so violent that her body begins to tingle. Before she can correctly identify what the feeling means, she had already transformed into her lioness form.

"Farren Graham, please return to your human form. I wish to—"

She makes a noise half way between a snarl and a roar, unwilling to do anything for Cheiron after his betrayal.

"I know you are angry with me. I know you do not understand. All I ask is that you allow me to explain, with the full capacity of you _human_ mind."

But Farren isn't listening. She is thinking things she has never thought before. She envisions lunging her agile body forward, pouncing onto the centaur and ripping his throat out. She wants to feel his heart in her mouth. Her muscles twitch, itching to go forward.

"Please Farren Graham. Remember yourself. Remember the erkling, your friends, your mother. Remember love, remember anything other than your fear and anger."

It is Cheiron's eyes—something in their pleading manner—that bring her back. With a whimper, she retracts her claws and comes out of her poised stance. After the transformation, she feels barren, naked. She rolls into a tight ball, hugging as much of herself as she can.

"Do you feel better?" Cheiron asks from above her.

She shakes her head once. "No." Farren tightens her grip on herself, as though that is enough to keep from falling apart. "I'm so sorry," she moans.

"I am proud of you."

Farren tries to laugh derisively.

"I am not joking. I have never been more sincere."

"How could you ever be proud of me? I don't even recognize myself anymore. I am the worst human being ever. I… I don't think I could have fucked up more in my life. Everything I do, everything I feel is wrong. Everything."

Something warm comes to rest on her shoulder. Astounded, she looks up only to see Cheiron's large hand. "Farren Graham, of all the human interaction I have ever had, never have I seen such a tragic case as yours. Your self-hatred, your anger and loathing all comes from simply being human. You are the most human person I have ever known, and as a result the greatest example of man's tragedy."

Farren doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't like Cheiron speaking of her as though she were the savior of humanity. "I wanted to kill you five minutes ago. I thought about it. I would have done it if you hadn't—"

With all the composure of the world, he sits in the grass with her. "I know."

After a moment Farren stops trying to understand the centaur. She uncurls herself, but remains on the ground. "They lost, Cheiron. They all ended up miserable, even though they loved each other."

"My relationship with Druella Mulciber and Eileen Prince is the closest I have ever come to human love. Their flaws were vast and ultimately fatal to their happiness. But their story remains, I believe, extremely valuable."

"How?" she chokes. "How in the world could I learn anything other than misery from them?"

"Ella and Eileen did not lose, Farren Graham. They experienced something that few will ever encounter. Yes, they gave up in the end. But their lives will not end with failure if you understand."

"Understand what, Cheiron?"

"That you still have a chance. You can learn from them. You can take deliberate action to avoid their failure."

Something familiar tightens in her chest. "It's too late. Everything's shot to hell already. There's no going back. I can't get them back."

"Farren Graham, you know that is not true. Perhaps you cannot go back to how things used to be, but you can succeed. You can make things better—give them what they deserve."

Farren cannot make sense of it all. She rests her heavy head against a cool rock. "What happened to them after? To Ella and Eileen?"

Cheiron pauses before sighing deeply. "Ella became Druella Black, wife of Cygnus Black who became a Death Eaters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They had three children: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa Black. And Eileen Prince eventually married a muggle named Tobias Snape. They had a child named Severus Tobias Snape."

Her eye lids refuse to open anymore, and she fights to remain conscious. This new knowledge makes her sink more deeply into unreality. "Severus Tobias Snape? Eileen is…" All this time she thought she'd been escaping from them. But instead she'd only been reading about how a Black and a Snape has once loved each other deeply. She moans, a dizzy feeling overtaking her. "Oh Cheiron, please help me," she whispers. "Please tell me how to make things better. Please…please…please…" She crawls toward him meekly, still mumbling pleas.

"You know how, Farren. You will know."

Unsure of whether she had fallen asleep already, Farren continues to repeat the one word: "Please."

And just before she is lost once again to her slumber, she hears the gravelly voice speak. "Goodbye, Farren Graham. You have made my remaining time on this earth very fulfilling. You are more astounding than you will ever realize…"

* * *

The next day Farren Graham is found vey early in the morning by Professor McGonagall. She appears to have been placed atop the steps to the castle fast asleep. After several attempts to awaken the girl prove unsuccessful, she is taken to the hospital wing. And through all this early morning activity, no one ever saw the lone centaur watching carefully from an alcove in the Forbidden Forest

* * *

_The room is cloaked in pitch darkness and completely unrecognizable to Peter. He can't remember how he had gotten there or who had taken him. The last thing he can remember is speaking with Malfoy back at Hogwarts. They had been speaking for months now and he had informed Peter last week that the Dark Lord was finally prepared to welcome him into their organization._

_"I have passed along the message that you are true to your word. You have been dutiful these past months and your information has been useful to the Dark Lord. He is pleased," Luscius had told him._

_"Yes, thank you Lucius, my friend," Wormtail piped. "I really can't thank you enough for helpin—"_

_"It is understood, I am sure, that any form of doubt while serving the Dark Lord results in immediate extermination," he interrupted._

_Wormtail shook his head violently. "Yes. Why yes, of course. Never doubt—yes completely understandable. You won't ever have to—"_

_"Any attempt at trickery would be highly…inadvisable, Peter, if you value your survival. The Dark Lord has kept me in charge of making certain you do not falter on the matter. And though I trust your cowardice will keep you loyal, it still seems rather strange to me. You are, in fact, a Gryffindor and best mates with the targets."_

_Peter had looked down at the mention of this. The death of the Potters, though regrettable, was necessary. He'd enjoyed their company, he truly had, but dark times called for dark measures. And if handing over their heads would ensure him the ticket to survival, then so be it. "They'll be as helpless as I once school is done at the end of this month."_

_Luscius gave that rueful smile of his that always gave Wormtail the chills. "If you can't beat 'em, join em'."_

_He forced a nervous laugh. "Y-yes. Mostly."_

_Luscius raised an eyebrow. "Mostly?"_

_He'd miss his time with the marauders at Hogwarts. Though Peter knew he'd never really been one of them, it had been nice to pretend. It had been nice to momentarily taste what it was like to be powerful. But things change. "Yes I also won't miss being their punching bag. And getting rid of that girl—Sirius's bitch—while in the Dark Lord's service wouldn't be too bad either."_

_"What girl?"_

_"Sirius's whore, Farren. The one that shagged Snape. Do you know her?" _

_Amusement crossed the pale, handsome face as Malfoy resituated himself in his chair. "Briefly."_

_"Well I can't stand the bitch. She thinks she's so much better than me. Did you hear what happened today?"_

_Malfoy sighed, growing increasingly bored and impatient. "No Peter, I did not hear. Enlighten me."_

_Peter rushed on, completely missing of the sarcasm in his Luscius's tone. "She attacked me! It was the craziest thing I've ever seen. She nearly chocked me to death in the Gryffindor common room. Psychotic cow. I can't even work out why Sirius would keep her around for so long. She's not even that good-looking!"_

_"I'm not sure Peter. Severus could probably paint a pretty picture of what kept him so enthralled with Farren Graham."_

_Shrugging and trying to look impressive, Peter concluded with, "The way I see it, she must be a mind-blowing shag. Only reason why either of them would stay with her."_

_"Undoubtedly. But never mind that. There are more important matters. Your initiation will take place next week. Meet me here again at the same time."_

_Peter's pulse began to beat faster. "I-initiation? Oh, _hem hem_," he cleared his throat, willing his voice to lower. "And what does that entail again?"_

_Malfoy gave that smirk again. "You'll see, my friend. Let's just say I won't be so dubious about your true loyalties if you are successful."_

_Swallowing hard, Peter choked, "Successful?"_

_"Yes, Peter. Only if you successfully pass your initiation will you have the honor of serving the Dark Lord."_

_And so here he is, waiting for something to happen in the unknowable room. The minutes trickle by and Peter's fear seems to climb up his throat. It builds and builds until finally, he vomits out of sheer terror._

_Just as he begins to recover, the air feels suddenly colder and the happiness leaks out of him like the pile of sick next to him. He has always been accustomed to fear. In fact, it is the only companion he knows and trusts._ _But is different. This feels warranted, as though imminent danger lurked around the corner._

_In the moment that Peter becomes resigned to the fact that he would either die or faint from the gut wrenching suspense, a high-pitched voice rings out from the darkness._

_"Peter Pettigrew," it says softly._

_He whimpers, straining to see the source though his pounding heart already knows who it is. Through the darkness, Wormtail manages to make out that the previously empty, velvety green thrown is now draped by what appears to be a black curtain._

_"Y-yes?" Peter manages to squeak out. "Who…who are you?"_

_"Why I am your new master, Peter."_

_Peter gasps, his already weak knees buckling under his weight. "Forgive me!"_

_"There is no need for forgiveness. You have done nothing wrong…yet." A high cackle sounds abruptly and Peter's heart feels close to combustion. He is certain that, at this rate, his heart will implode before the initiation can even begin._

_"Peter Pettigrew, I am giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. You are a very lucky young boy. Your disposition as one of the target's friends makes you extraordinarily valuable to me. I am offering you the opportunity to be a great asset to Lord Voldemort. Many Death Eaters would give their lives for such an offering."_

_"Y-yes, I know my Lord. Thank you so very much, my lord."_

_"Luscius has informed you of the plan?"_

_Peter nods furiously to the shadow, desperate to prove his worthiness to his new maser. "I am to remain close to the Potters and relay any useful information to you."_

_"Very good. At first you may feel as though your information is useless to me, but do not worry. Any information on the Potters is of value to Lord Voldemort. I also expect that Dumbledore will catch on eventually that there is a rat in the Potter's closest circle. I will teach you how to resist his techniques of interrogation. Do not panic when this happens. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes, my Lord."_

_"Is there any other information you wish to tell me, Peter?"_

_Wormtail nearly scrambles to get the words out. "Yes there is! As I told you, Lily and James have been meeting Dumbledore almost monthly. He knows you are trying to get a hold of them. In their last meeting, he suggested that James and Lily go into hiding after they left Hogwarts and offered to perform the fidalius charm for them."_

_The chuckle sounds again. "Just as I thought. The old man is becoming predictable with age." There is obvious glee and triumph in Voldemort's voice. "Peter, I am entrusting you with a vital mission. You will convince the Potters that you should be made their secret keeper… Failure in this task is not an option, Wormtail."_

_Peter looks up sharply at the name. Sweat trickles from his forehead and upper lip. He is paralyzed with fear._

_The pale over Peter can vaguely make out in the darkness seems to be bearing its teeth in a grotesque smile. "Yes I know of your little nicknames. You'll find I know many things about my servants."_

_There is a pause and Peter does not know what to do. Despite the fear—or maybe because of it—he feels this inexplicable urge to please his new Lord. He wants to be loved—or valued at least so he can secure his protection. Because that is how the Dark Lord makes him feel: as though a whole new world of safety and power lay in front of him, if only he proved himself worthy enough._

_"Yessss," that high voice hisses. The voice affects Peter so much that he is sure it comes from within the insides of his brain. The sound is internal, a part of him. How else can it grip him so? "Yes, very good Wormtail. Lord Voldemort is very pleased with your information. There is only one last technicality to attend to. Is there anyone that may jeopardize your mission or who may stand in your way?"_

_Peter frowns, thinking for an answer that will please his master. And after a few seconds, it comes to him and the image of the girl materializes in his mind's eye. He envisions those angelic curls and sweet cheeks he so desperately longs to break. A wondrous, almost frightening sensation of power swoops in his stomach. With just one word, she can be gone forever. And he will never be suspected. It is almost too preciously perfect to be real._

_"Yes," he says finally._

_"Who?"_

_"Farren. Farren Graham."_

**Author's Note**: I know I messed up with the name of Ella's husband in previous chapters. I don't know what I was smoking but I looked up the Black Family Tree and accidently made someone up that didn't exist. Not my intention. I will revise when I go back to the other chapters.

_The room is cloaked in pitch darkness and completely unrecognizable to Peter. He can't remember how he had gotten there or who had taken him. The last thing he can remember is speaking with Malfoy back at Hogwarts. They had been speaking for months now and he had informed Peter last week that the Dark Lord was finally prepared to welcome him into their organization._

_"I have passed along the message that you are true to your word. You have been dutiful these past months and your information has been useful to the Dark Lord. He is pleased," Luscius had told him._

_"Yes, thank you Lucius, my friend," Wormtail piped. "I really can't thank you enough for helpin—"_

_"It is understood, I am sure, that any form of doubt while serving the Dark Lord results in immediate extermination," he interrupted._

_Wormtail shook his head violently. "Yes. Why yes, of course. Never doubt—yes completely understandable. You won't ever have to—"_

_"Any attempt at trickery would be highly…inadvisable, Peter, if you value your survival. The Dark Lord has kept me in charge of making certain you do not falter on the matter. And though I trust your cowardice will keep you loyal, it still seems rather strange to me. You are, in fact, a Gryfindor and best mates with the targets."_

_Peter had looked down at the mention of this. The death of the Potters, though regrettable, was necessary. He'd enjoyed their company, he truly had, but dark times called for dark measures. And if handing over their heads would ensure him the ticket to survival, then so be it. "They'll be as helpless as I once school is done at the end of this month."_

_Luscius gave that rueful smile of his that always gave Wormtail the chills. "If you can't beat 'em, join em'."_

_He forced a nervous laugh. "Y-yes. Mostly."_

_Luscius raised an eyebrow. "Mostly?"_

_He'd miss his time with the marauders at Hogwarts. Though Peter knew he'd never really been one of them, it had been nice to pretend. It had been nice to momentarily taste what it was like to be powerful. But things change. "Yes I also won't miss being their punching bag. And getting rid of that girl—Sirius's bitch—while in the Dark Lord's service wouldn't be too bad either."_

_"What girl?"_

_"Sirius's whore, Farren. The one that shagged Snape. Do you know her?" _

_Amusement crossed the pale, handsome face as Malfoy resituated himself in his chair. "Briefly."_

_"Well I can't stand the bitch. She thinks she's so much better than me. Did you hear what happened today?"_

_Malfoy sighed, growing increasingly bored and impatient. "No Peter, I did not hear. Enlighten me."_

_Peter rushed on, completely missing of the sarcasm in his Luscius's tone. "She attacked me! It was the craziest thing I've ever seen. She nearly chocked me to death in the Gryffindor common room. Psychotic cow. I can't even work out why Sirius would keep her around for so long. She's not even that good-looking!"_

_"I'm not sure Peter. Severus could probably paint a pretty picture of what kept him so enthralled with Farren Graham."_

_Shrugging and trying to look impressive, Peter concluded with, "The way I see it, she must be a mind-blowing shag. Only reason why either of them would stay with her."_

_"Undoubtedly. But never mind that. There are more important matters. Your initiation will take place next week. Meet me here again at the same time."_

_Peter's pulse began to beat faster. "I-initiation? Oh, _hem hem_," he cleared his throat, willing his voice to lower. "And what does that entail again?"_

_Malfoy gave that smirk again. "You'll see, my friend. Let's just say I won't be so dubious about your true loyalties if you are successful."_

_Swallowing hard, Peter choked, "Successful?"_

_"Yes, Peter. Only if you successfully pass your initiation will you have the honor of serving the Dark Lord."_

_And so here he is, waiting for something to happen in the unknowable room. The minutes trickle by and Peter's fear seems to climb up his throat. It builds and builds until finally, he vomits out of sheer terror._

_Just as he begins to recover, the air feels suddenly colder and the happiness leaks out of him like the pile of sick next to him. He has always been accustomed to fear. In fact, it is the only companion he knows and trusts._ _But is different. This feels warranted, as though imminent danger lurked around the corner._

_In the moment that Peter becomes resigned to the fact that he would either die or faint from the gut wrenching suspense, a high-pitched voice rings out from the darkness._

_"Peter Petigrew," it says softly._

_He whimpers, straining to see the source though his pounding heart already knows who it is. Through the darkness, Wormtail manages to make out that the previously empty, velvety green thrown is now draped by what appears to be a black curtain._

_"Y-yes?" Peter manages to squeak out. "Who…who are you?"_

_"Why I am your new master, Peter."_

_Peter gasps, his already weak knees buckling under his weight. "Forgive me!"_

_"There is no need for forgiveness. You have done nothing wrong…yet." A high cackle sounds abruptly and Peter's heart feels close to combustion. He is certain that, at this rate, his heart will implode before the initiation can even begin._

_"Peter Petigrew, I am giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. You are a very lucky young boy. Your disposition as one of the target's friends makes you extraordinarily valuable to me. I am offering you the opportunity to be a great asset to Lord Voldemort. Many Death Eaters would give their lives for such an offering."_

_"Y-yes, I know my Lord. Thank you so very much, my lord."_

_"Luscius has informed you of the plan?"_

_Peter nods furiously to the shadow, desperate to prove his worthiness to his new maser. "I am to remain close to the Potters and relay any useful information to you."_

_"Very good. At first you may feel as though your information is useless to me, but do not worry. Any information on the Potters is of value to Lord Voldemort. I also expect that Dumbledore will catch on eventually that there is a rat in the Potter's closest circle. I will teach you how to resist his techniques of interrogation. Do not panic when this happens. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes, my Lord."_

_"Is there any other information you wish to tell me, Peter?"_

_Wormtail nearly scrambles to get the words out. "Yes there is! As I told you, Lily and James have been meeting Dumbledore almost monthly. He knows you are trying to get a hold of them. In their last meeting, he suggested that James and Lily go into hiding after they left Hogwarts and offered to perform the fidalius charm for them."_

_The chuckle sounds again. "Just as I thought. The old man is becoming predictable with age." There is obvious glee and triumph in Voldemort's voice. "Peter, I am entrusting you with a vital mission. You will convince the Potters that you should be made their secret keeper… Failure in this task is not an option, Wormtail."_

_Peter looks up sharply at the name. Sweat trickles from his forehead and upper lip. He is paralyzed with fear._

_The pale over Peter can vaguely make out in the darkness seems to be bearing its teeth in a grotesque smile. "Yes I know of your little nicknames. You'll find I know many things about my servants."_

_There is a pause and Peter does not know what to do. Despite the fear—or maybe because of it—he feels this inexplicable urge to please his new Lord. He wants to be loved—or valued at least so he can secure his protection. Because that is how the Dark Lord makes him feel: as though a whole new world of safety and power lay in front of him, if only he proved himself worthy enough._

_"Yessss," that high voice hisses. The voice affects Peter so much that he is sure it comes from within the insides of his brain. The sound is internal, a part of him. How else can it grip him so? "Yes, very good Wormtail. Lord Voldemort is very pleased with your information. There is only one last technicality to attend to. Is there anyone that may jeopardize your mission or who may stand in your way?"_

_Peter frowns, thinking for an answer that will please his master. And after a few seconds, it comes to him and the image of the girl materializes in his mind's eye. He envisions those angelic curls and sweet cheeks he so desperately longs to break. A wondrous, almost frightening sensation of power swoops in his stomach. With just one word, she can be gone forever. And he will never be suspected. It is almost too preciously perfect to be real._

_"Yes," he says finally._

_"Who?"_

_"Farren. Farren Graham."_

**Author's Note**: I know I messed up with the name of Ella's husband in previous chapters. I don't know what I was smoking but I looked up the Black Family Tree and accidentally made someone up that didn't exist. Not my intention. I will revise when I go back to the other chapters.


	18. Lost Children

"_Let me feel, I don't care if I breakdown  
Let me fall, even if I hit the ground  
And if I...  
Cry a little  
Die a little  
At least I know I lived, just a little..."_

_-Let Me Fall, By Bethany Joy Lenz_

**Lost Children**

_To him, she will always be the first year with a particularly sharp tongue and wounded eyes. Even now when her face has gone sickly gaunt and waxy, Severus remembers the resilience and senses it lying dormant under her too pale skin. No one and no thing could successfully rob Farren Graham of her fire. It is in her blood—determined before she had even left the womb. Severus is sure that, had he been able to ask her mother about the experience, she would have said that Farren had entered the world already swinging fists._

_ Usually when you see someone waiting beside a sickly patient in the hospital, they show some sign of boredom or exhaustion or apprehension. But Severus simply sits perfectly erect, neither nervous nor bored. Just waiting. Severus has been—and always will be—waiting for Farren. He inwardly accepts this fact now. A year ago he may have denied it—said it was just a prolonged fancy or fascination. But lately feelings aren't as ignorable as they used to be. He feels how Farren has changed him. He has become accustomed to having to wait for her; and even more against his nature, he does this patiently and with understanding. While she grieves for Sirius and their lost love, he will be waiting for her to realize that their love had never been lost. _

_ But it hadn't all been waiting with Farren. Sometimes it had been arguing and bickering and fighting and even teasing—or a combination of all three. Severus remembers on one occasion when they (he) had tired of potion-making, and Farren had successfully managed to "_distract"_ him. After they had finished, she lay across his lap languidly on the couch in knickers as he read a book on advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. He peered down from his reading and sat back a little further to appreciate the view of her colorful knickers hugging her curves. She seemed to be in some sort of reverie, smirking ever so slightly as she idly touched the skin above her hip._

_ "You know," she said suddenly, still tenderly gliding fingers along the place, "I've been thinking about getting a tattoo here."_

_ Snape raised a dubious eyebrow. He has always hated tattoos, finding them barbaric and rather distasteful. "Oh really? Of what?"_

_ That cat-like grin widened. "Something simple. Like an 'S'."_

_ Initially Severus swelled with arrogance and pride, sure that she meant an 'S' for him. He momentarily entertained the idea of having his initial imprinted on her skin. Though quite an unhealthy thought, he enjoyed the concept of having something to prove that she was his and only his. _

_ But then a realization suddenly made him deflate and he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "For whom would this "S" be for? …_Him_ or me?"_

_ Glad that he had caught on to her little game, Farren giggled and crossed her arms. "Who says it's for either of you, you chauvinistic pig."_

_ Anger flared in his chest and he shoved her off of him. She fell onto the hard stone floor rather unceremoniously. _

"_Hey!" she interjected, rubbing the bottom he had been admiring moments before._

_ "That was too far."_

_ Farren's face lost all traces of indignation and playfulness. She looked down at the ground ashamedly. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was stupid of me." She gazed up at him with those big blue eyes. "Forgive me?"_

_ He bent down so that he was inches away from her face. She closed her eyes and puckered her pink lips in anticipation. But he didn't kiss her. He grabbed her chin and made her look up at him. "That won't work this time." He released her chin and returned to his book._

_ But he wasn't really reading. He was hyper aware that she remained on the floor and didn't move a muscle or say a word. Though tempted to see what precisely she was doing, Snape refused to give in and acknowledge her. The minutes trickled by slowly and still not a sound. Finally, unable to take it, he flung the book away. "Will you stop!?"_

_ She didn't seem surprised by his outburst. "I'm not doing anything."_

_ He made a frustrated noise in his throat. "Exactly! Stop making me feel like the bad person!"_

_ "I don't mean to. I'm sorry."_

_ Severus sighed exasperatedly, rubbing his eyes with his palms. He should have been used to this by now but the madness never stopped. "Let's just forget it, okay?"_

_ Instantly, she became reanimated. "Okay!" She got back onto her knees and crawled back towards him. But just as she was about to jump back onto the couch, she paused. _

_ "I have an idea," she said._

_ "Congratulations! What a novelty. We should cele—"_

_ She interrupted his insult by suddenly grabbing his knees and opening his legs wide. "How about I make it up to you and then we forget about it?"_

_ Snape watched her position herself between his open legs and he could not suppress a smirk. Chuckling, he sighed as he put his face in his hands. "Farren, you have an unstoppable gift for getting your way."_

_ She'd smiled. "I know."_

_ …Thinking back now, Snape has difficulty remembering the bad parts. In the end, he can only recall how many times she'd made him laugh, and how good it had felt to be inside her, and how much he'd loved her. _

_ Soft mumbles from her lips brought Severus instantly back to the present. Her eyes flutter open and suddenly he remembers why he has always waited for her. Because she had always, faithfully, come back to him. Eventually._

_ If the waxy skin and chapped lips hadn't been enough to send a pang to his heart, her weak smile surely did it._

_ "Severus," she sighs. "I thought you'd never speak to me again."_

_ These words wake something else in him. His resolve wanes and he remembers why his love is now tainted with that metallic taste of hate. She'd chosen _Him_. Of all the people in the world—Black. Her intentions had been to live her life out with that pitiful excuse of a man and probably marry him. She had been perfectly fine with letting him, Severus, die alone while they went off and lived happily ever after and produced beautiful, empty-headed, arrogant, little cretins for children._

_ With these lies in his head, Snape turns the full force of his bitterness and hatred toward her. He watches the little smile falter, then crumble. Severus sees all his evil in Farren's face then—all the proof for what he had always known. That he has been and always will be a lost cause. In a twisted way, this relieves him. No more will he have to watch that shimmering faith and adoration in those eyes, knowing that somehow or another he'd disappoint her. Yes, now he is free and won't have to pretend anymore._

_ "Oh god, don't you dare," Farren's voice is frighteningly vehement. "I see what you're doing. And don't you dare use me as an excuse to turn your back on the world. My being a selfish bitch doesn't give you the right to give up. No matter what I or anyone else does, you make your own decisions. No one makes you choose a path—so if you give in now there's only yourself to blame!"_

_ The truth in her words breaks him. But he cannot let her see his cowardice, so he turns his fear into anger. He is stone, an ice sculpture as he answers. "Do not concern yourself with whether you have affected me negatively—or positively for that matter. I assure you, you are not nearly important enough." Farren's lips part slightly in what appears to be a silent scream. "In fact I came here only to inform you that what minuet fascination you once held for me has flickered and died. Recent events have allowed me to see you for what you truly are: an object of excessively skin deep, if not false, beauty and a deeply defected nature that will insure you loneliness."_

_ Severus has always relied on the ability to appear entirely detached while his insides burned. But this is by far the hardest time he's ever had to do it._

_ Her reaction is the most frightening part. No tears fill her eyes, her cheeks do not rosy with anger, and she does not attempt to brush him off with a laugh or smile. She seems dead inside; as though—finally—it had become too much. It is like parts of her brain have simply shut down in an attempt to salvage what sanity remained._

_ Severus realizes too late the full extent of what he had just done. Blinded by visions of revenge, he'd forgotten that despite everything, he still cares for Farren. And she him. And that breaking her as she'd done him only served to pain himself further._

_ Unsuccessfully, he racks his brain for any sort of words that might repair the damage—something that might lessen the sickening feeling in his gut. But nothing comes to him and he just sits there, horrified by what he'd done. In a desperate need to comfort her, he begins lamely, "Farren, I—"_

_ She shakes her head once. "Don't. I know I am a terrible person and I know I deserve all of that. But please, try to find it in your heart to give me the mercy I don't deserve. And leave. Please, just leave and let me be alone."_

_ He opens his mouth but falls silent. Wordlessly, Severus stands and turns to leave the sharp-tongued, wounded-eyed first year. As he begins to exit, her voice stops him dead in his tracks._

_ "You know," she says softly to his back, "I think I figured out why I chose the two of you—I realize now what connected us all. We are—all three of us—lost. We're just a bunch of lost kids feeling in the dark for something to hold onto. And that's why I chose you. That's why I loved you both."_

_ It has suddenly become difficult for him to breath. "That's funny," Snape says in a voice barely audible. "I knew that was why I loved you the moment I saw you seven years ago."_

_ And with that, he leaves her._

_ It had become a ritual for the past week now. Every night, Sirius goes into James' trunk while everyone is asleep, and procures the Invisibility Cloak. He doesn't even need the Marauder's Map anymore; Hogwarts' secrets are already permanently engrained in his head. Usually there is no one but her in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey's remedies conquer mostly every wound or incident in a timely fashion. Except for hers. But Sirius suspects this is more to do with Farren's will to get better than Madam Pomfrey's healing abilities._

_ He doesn't do much but watch her. Sometimes he transforms and sleeps curled on the floor beside her, others he stays there till the early hours of the morning and then returns to the dormitories. Tonight would have to be a short trip due to the full moon looming in the sky and Lupin's transformation. He had assured the marauders that he simply needed to procure more sherry from the kitchen and then he would join them in the forest. Sirius isn't certain whether James and the others are aware of the truth and is even less certain whether Farren is. Sometimes he is comforted by the fact that the cloak had never failed them before. But then one night Farren had stared so intensely at the exact spot where he stood, that Sirius wondered whether she couldn't simply sense his presence._

_ Tonight he gets the same feeling. As he quietly situates himself on the Hospital Wing's floor, she goes dead still. And then she lifts herself up slightly into a sitting position, as though preparing to speak. After a slight pause, she reaches for her wand on the bedside table. Weary, Sirius watches Farren raise the mahogany stick. But the charm she hums under her breath is almost sing-song, and the movement of the wand like a dance. A beam of splintering yellow light emits from the wand and Sirius is further bewildered. The light is different from that of Lumos; more like a projection than a flashlight. But then several different colors join the yellow light and slowly Sirius makes out a projected image of the Hogwarts ground._

_ He recognizes flashes of Lily and Celia, both laughing hysterically as Farren made crude, juvenile expressions. And then those images fall away to the scene of a striking, voluptuous woman holding a baby with a single curl escaping her otherwise bald head. Sirius probably shouldn't have been surprised to see his own face staring back at him, but he is. It is them, lying in the grass beneath the stars. The night she gave herself to him. Sirius can hardly recognize who that person is anymore. He can't imagine that, not long ago, that had been him with the huge smile on his face—the kind of smile that truly reaches the eyes. He can't imagine that not long ago, that had been them, unbroken and with such potential._

_ And Sirius probably shouldn't feel that sharp pang when he sees the flickering image of Him, but he does. The pain, it seems, does not ease with time. Snape was brewing a steaming pot of potion, the sweat making his black hair stick to his forehead. And there she was, dancing to unheard music in a circle around him. He shot her a look of annoyance as he wiped his hair from his eyes. She saw this, but did not stop dancing. Instead she moved closer and began to rub her bum along his side. Snape tried to keep the pretense of annoyance but failed miserably. He grinned and seemed to exhale gustily. Then he wound his hand up and smacked her squarely in the arse._

_ There are still more images of both Sirius and Snape. For some horrifying, masochistic reason, Sirius cannot stop watching. His brain screams at him to go, run, forget this ever happened. And yet a louder part of him can't move a muscle._

_ The day before he had watched Snape's meeting with her. He'd heard what she had said about them: that they—all three of them— were like lost children. And he realized then that that truly is what Farren had been to him. She'd been a home, a future with someone to call family. A real family. She'd been a second chance, a hope for a new life. But that's gone now._

_ Somewhere deep down, Sirius knows that Farren had never meant to hurt him. Deep down he understands that unwittingly, she'd fallen in love with both of them. But it proved to be much more practical to make her out to be this kind of monster in his head, a whore who didn't care about anyone. And if Sirius can make himself believe this lie well enough, then maybe then it'd be just a little easier to stop loving her._

_ The last images flicker and die and the smile slips away from Farren's lips. She lifts her hand to where the faces of the people she loves had been moments before. There is something so horribly sad and pathetic about the scene. Like watching a child try to make sense of the concept of permanence and loss. _

_But suddenly, her eyes light up with some new idea or hope. A little laugh bubbles from her and she says words that Sirius does not understand…"_No, but I see yours…_" she whispers to herself, as though repeating what she'd heard several times before. And then with an energy Sirius hadn't seen her display in days, Farren summons both a piece of paper and a pen._

_ Curiosity gets the better of him. Sirius never has been very practiced at denying impulses. So despite the fact that he might risk being exposed and that the longer he waited, the more suspicious his friends would be, Sirius very carefully moves to read over her shoulder. _

_ The first words he makes out are "_Dear Severus_…" For some reason this hurts worse than seeing the boy's face in her memories. Somehow knowing that, in this instance, she had thought of Snape before him is just too much for Sirius. _

_ He turns towards the exit, deciding that now is the best time to rejoin the marauders. But, as though of their own volition, his feet stop. Sirius gets the inexplicable feeling that this will be the last time he sees Farren Graham. Perhaps this is because his heart had been quicker than his mind in realizing that the self-torment would end now. Tonight. The time had come to let Farren go—to do his best to forget she ever existed. _

_ So Sirius turns and watches the curly-haired girl one final time. He asks himself the question he had been wondering ever since he first learned of her betrayal: in the end, had it been worth it? Given the choice, would he, Sirius, elect to never have known her? Would he forgo all that she had shown him, given him, taught him about himself if it spared him the pain he suffered now? He hadn't had an answer before, but the prospect of leaving her for good made things oddly clear. No matter how much he hates her, no matter how much turmoil she'd caused him, Sirius wouldn't give up what they'd shared for anything. _

_Sirius realizes that this fact will be the most bravery he'd ever display in his life. And it is also the reason why Farren Graham is a true Gryffindor, despite her lack of loyalty to him and other Gryffindor qualities. Because they both had the courage to endure the pain, if it meant they came out just a little more fulfilled. _

_Silently, he says his goodbyes to her. She has finished writing her letter and now lies fast asleep in the hospital bed. Unable to resist, he walks back to her side. Removing the cloak, he bends down and says almost inaudibly, "Goodbye, Miss Graham." And then, very lightly, he presses his lips to her cheek. He tries to think of something that would encompass everything he had to say to her. Something which explained that though he could never forgive her, he would never stop loving her. That after everything, it had been worth it. That the lost child in him had somehow found a home._

"_Thank you," he says simply. _

_And without another thought, he exits the hospital wing and finds his friends deep within the black forest._

She wakes startled—as though someone had jolted her with an electric shock. Amazed, Farren touches her cheek. It is tingling.

She feels him. He had been there moments—maybe even seconds before. She knows. Somehow, after being with a person so intimately, your body just becomes hyper aware of their presence. It must, she believes, have something to do with the chemicals and electric signals the brain sends through the body.

Her muscles are jittery, making her fingers twitch as she holds them up to her head. This time, she can't let him go without an explanation.

The floor is ice to her bare feet. Distantly, she knows that going out into the European countryside night in nothing more than a nightgown probably isn't the best idea. But in the window, she sees the enormous black dog bounding across the Hogwarts grounds, heading straight for the black forest. And so, she runs.

With her pale blond hair and the emanating whiteness of her skin, Farren appears as a beacon of moonlight, an apparition. When she reaches the forest, she suddenly notices the stinging on her feet. Slightly surprised, she spots the streams of blood oozing from shallow wounds up and down her legs. She begins to run; sure that Sirius is only just out of her line of vision, skirting behind that tree or that shrub in front of her. And then her human legs become inadequate to sustain her speed. The sound of her heavy, over sized paws matches the heartbeat thumping within her chest.

But suddenly, the lioness stops. She smells him. It is that musk which somehow manages to spread warmth throughout her veins and simultaneously gives her that swooping sensation of falling. Curiously, the smell does not lead further into the forest, but toward the borders. Toward the alcove.

Feverishly, she follows that scent. Her eyes play tricks on her constantly, making her jump in expectation to see the mass of black fur at every turn. But she doesn't.

She wonders where Cheiron is—whether he senses her frantic mood. For some odd reason, Farren has the bizarre feeling that he cannot. She wishes he were there with her. She wishes he would come gliding through the darkness, touching her with that cooling aura.

In the darkness, a bark sounds. With the speed of a feline on the hunt, she listens. Another bark, then another, and finally a howl.

She pushes faster, despite the fact that her body, even in animal form, is demanding rest. Is he in trouble? Is he hurt? Has Remus escaped—did they need her help?

Farren manages to convince herself that by reaching Sirius in this time of need, she would redeem herself. He would forgive her, love her—

At that moment, the lioness is sent flying off course by the collision with a large mass. It isn't until she hits the ground that Farren even realizes that the colliding mass had attached itself onto her neck with what feels like fangs.

Stunned, she wrestles furiously to face her surprise attacker. But the hold is too strong and she succeeds only in deepening the wound. Finally she catches a glance at an ugly, multi-colored wolf which had her flesh clenched within its jaws. In her desperate thrashing, the cat manages to reach the beast's leg. Quick as a flash, she bites. The sound of breaking bone crunches sickeningly in her head, and then the taste of blood floods onto her tongue. Although the wound she deals is not nearly as fatal as her attacker's had been, for one blinding moment of triumph the lioness believes she has won—or at the very least scrapped the chance to escape. The wolf snarls and limps off her, whimpering. Waves of pain roar through her, but it doesn't matter. She might win, she might conquer, she might survive. She can return to Hogwarts and retell the story of her lucky escape to those who still loved her and they would hold her and say how much they care for her and how glad they are that she is alive. Triumphant, she lunges to deal another blow to the wolf…

Ropes lash out from the abyss of trees. They catch the lioness' golden body in midair and tie her to the trunk of an oak tree. The open wound sears from the contact, blinding her momentarily with the pain.

"Could you not handle one filthy mudblood on your own, Greyback," says the taunting voice of Bellatrix Black.

The wolf growls, barring its dirtied teeth.

"But I suppose Wormtail did fail to mention she was an animagus. No matter, I can finish—"

But she stops, smiling at the snarling beast. Bellatrix simultaneously inclines her head and lowers her wand, as if to say, "As you wish."

The wolf turns back to the bound and immobile lioness. In that moment, she sees her own death starring back at her from those black, unyielding eyes. Those eyes hold only one desire: to kill her. The cries that emit from the cat are that of pain past endurance. Flesh is torn from her side once, twice, three consecutive times.

"That's enough," says Bellatrix with her crazed gaze fixed upon the prisoner. "I want to watch the bitch bleed." But suddenly the demented smile fades and her eyes widen in fear. "Did you hear that?"

The lioness listens along with her murderers. She recognizes the sounds.

"We must leave—"

The wolf whines sadly and almost seems to pout.

"Just forget it, you idiot beast. Just leave her. She is as good as dead. Nothing can help her now."

And then as though they had never been there at all, the Death Eaters disappear.

The noises that had scared away her attackers had not been people at all. They are centaurs, and suddenly Farren realizes why she hadn't felt Cheiron before. Because Cheiron had met his end. And now the new leader, probably Rhoecus, would never interfere with the fates. And she was fated to die. The centaurs would not save her.

When the sounds of hooves become inaudible, the only thing left for her is to wait as her life drained with every drop of blood that hit the dirt. Would she see Cheiron when she died? Do centaurs go to the same after-life as witches and wizards? Would Eileen and Ella be there? Would they be disappointed in her for not fulfilling the purpose they had set before her? For not loving successfully? For failing miserably.

While she lies there slumped against the tree, alone, Farren's form morphs due to the pain. She forgets to think of her body as a vessel (how could it be when it hurt this much?). She is two-legged again, with a mane which oddly does not transpire to her animagus form. And after the shift, she begins to feel less and less of her body—as though it is falling away slowly. In fact, she now feels nothing more than the sluggish beat of her own heartbeat. She wishes it would stop. Anything would be better than having the end hanging over her like this. For the first time Farren is welcoming darkness, beckoning for it to take her once and for all.

But then suddenly she spots movement in trees. A black figure running. For a horror filled moment, Farren is sure it must be the wolfman back again to taste more of her. She imagines what horrific pleasures he had returned for. Panic brings all remaining consciousness back to her as she awaits her torture—

…But then the light of the moon sends the cloaked figure into sharp relief. She spots the abnormally large nose, the marble-pale skin, the simultaneously sinewy and twitchy movements. It is not her tormenter. It is her prince.

"No," Severus says softly, shaking his head. "No."

The ropes are cut, and suddenly Farren is falling. Her useless limbs send her flying limply towards the ground. She awaits the collision she is certain she will be able to feel, but something catches her. Frantic hands are upon her and she tries to make sense of their urgency. She cannot comprehend what those hands wish to accomplish so hastily when death had already claimed her long ago.

But as she watches him search relentlessly for signs of life, Farren regains a sense of urgency. Severus—she had forgotten about him while she preparing for death. Who will be there to understand him when she was gone? Who will trust him unwaveringly? Who will continue the futile and endless amount of hope for him? Who will match him? Who will love him as she has? As she always will.

With all her might, Farren fights back the black nothingness. She asks god or fate or whatever force wishes to claim her, to wait just a few moments longer.

Snape is murmuring her name over and over again. "Farren… Farren … Farren… I love you." The words are spoken in nothing louder than a whisper, but she hears. They seem to carry through the breeze that brushes against Farren's cheek, and a tear trickles from her bloodied eyelids.

"Severus—" It hurts to talk. But still nothing is more important than that he understand. "I will always be with you."

He moans as if someone has stabbed a stake through his heart.

"As long as there is any good left in you at all—I will be there. It is me. You are so brilliant. So wonderful. My prince."

He rakes her face with his hands, trying frantically to wipe the blood from her face. "There's too much," he quivers desperately. "There's too much blood! I can't see you. I can't see your face."

An incredible revelation dawns upon her. Farren remembers a long-lost dream which she had once had on a night that feels like centuries ago. With all remaining strength, she touches him. "No… _But I see yours_."

_ The boy leaned forward to press his lips against hers for one last time. The kiss was unlike any other. It was warm, so warm. Not hot, but perfectly warm. With a gut-wrenching pang Severus realized how little they'd kissed during those hours spent in the room of requirement, pretending to work on Potions and essays when they were really playing their game of stolen glances and grins._

_ He didn't need to feel Farren's body go limp in his arms to understand that she had gone. He watched as those complicated blue eyes slipped into a single-colored simplicity, and he knew. Touching fingers to his lips, Severus got the distinct impression that she had taken the warmth with her, leaving him colder and emptier than ever before._

_ Snape couldn't move. A part of his brain instructed him to run, escape from this horrifying truth. And yet another part of him could stay there forever, holding her lifeless body in a pool of the still lukewarm blood._

_ Here she lay; the glamour gone, making her appear smaller than usual, and more fragile than she had ever allowed herself to be. Snape could not have imagined Farren ever looking so frail before then._

_ He looked away, searching for something that could distract him from the disgusting frailty. Unfortunately what caught his attention was the wound on Farren's neck. Snape recognized those bites. He had studied them during fifth year, when he had tried so desperately to get the marauders expelled…_

_ They were werewolf bites._

_ A demented fury filled Snape, causing his entire body to shake. And he welcomed it. Anger. Delicious and familiar anger. The sadness disappeared in the wake of the companion he had had all his life._

_ And then he was running. "BLACK!" he screeched into the trees. "LUPIN!" _

_ There was only one werewolf that resided at Hogwarts. And Snape would kill him. He would rip him in half, tear the flesh from his bones—"LUPIN!!!"_

_ "Will you stop shouting like an idiot!" Sirius emerged from the dark shadows, murder in his gaze. But it was nothing–_nothing–_compared_ _to the other boy's._

_ "IT'S YOUR FAULT! YOU AND YOU'RE FUCKING FRIENDS KILLED HER—!"_

_ "What are you babbling about?"_

_ "SHE'S DEAD, YOU IDIOT! Farren's dead and Lupin killed her! You told him too—"_

_ "You're lying." Horror had filled Sirius's eyes and the color had drained from his features. But it was all fake. Snape knew it was a lie. He'd murdered her. _

"_Lying!?" Snape grabbed Sirius, dragging him toward the place where her corpse lay. "There!" and he threw him to the floor. At any other time this would have been impossible for Snape to do. But Sirius seemed to have lost the ability to fight._

_ Small noises were escaping him and he was touching her face and hair. "Remus got away. W-we couldn't stop him. I've been looking all n-night—"_

_ But Sirius couldn't speak anymore because he crumbled to the ground and started to sob uncontrollably._

_ And then something seemed to break within Severus as he watched his enemy clutching the corpse of the woman he had loved. He couldn't care anymore. He couldn't feel. He was numb. "Well you can stop searching now. I don't think the wolf is hungry anymore."_

_ And he left Sirius and walked back up to the castle. It was only when he got out of the Forbidden Forest that he heard the ear-splitting scream of a man bleeding from the inside. _

XXXXX

_Sirius stared at the dormitory door. No one would interrupt him once he was inside. Professor McGonagall had assured him of that, in an attempt to comfort him. But it wasn't comforting at all. It only made him think of how he would enter the Girls Dormitory–her dormitory–and no one would come to pull him out. There would be no going back once he was in. Sirius felt sure that he would remain there for an eternity._

_He took a deep breath and turned the knob._

_The room was very ordinary. Just like the one he occupied with James, Peter and Lupin, only with the obvious markings of female inhabitants. Several headshots of renowned Quidditch players winked and grinned back at him from the walls. There were photos of famous singers and bands. Only one poster remained unmoving. It was of a lion._

_As he walked toward the picture, Sirius was further convinced the quarters belonged to Farren Graham. The bed was in utter disarray and several little notes stuck to the bedpost's ceiling. Some of those notes were quotes, others reminders._

_One said:_ Do the Arithmancy essay!

_The one beside it said_: PICK YOUR DAMN KNICKERS OFF THE FLOOR! - Celia

_Still another read:_ Did you remember to eat dinner? My Easter chocolates are getting quite stale now, and they will not suffice as a meal for much longer. – Lily

_Sirius pulled this note from the headboard, rereading it for no particular reason. Something on the wood caught his eye: an engraved letter. It was an_ H. _He pulled more notes away, revealing even more letters_. _An _O_, a _W_, and then an _S_._

_In an odd hysteria, Sirius ripped every yellow note from the bedpost. His chest was heaving and a wild madness pumped through his veins. The more papers he ripped away, he began to recognize sentences. When the wood was bare, he was covered in the colorful papers. He read:_

"How strange that with the entire world's hatred weighing upon my shoulders, I can summon only memories of sweetness. How strange that in the end, all that matters is how his smile ignited light within me and thawed through the very center of my heart. And how by touching his ice-cold cheek, I helped heal, if only minutely, his internal wounds. And how I loved them both so very much—how wonderful it had all been. How strange it is that in the end I think only upon these things and how I can never regret what I did for love. Because in the end, no one and no thing can take that away from me. Because above all else, I loved. And in the end, that's all that matters… How strange…"

_His fingers moved as if of their own volition. They traced every individually carved letter, catching some splinters that stuck from out of the wood. He saw in slight wonder that his hands were trembling. In fact his entire body shook. He was… crying._

_The hot tears slid down his nose, landing quick and fast against the red covers. He was almost certain that the space beside him on the mattress was indented slightly, as though She had only just risen from it after they made love. As though she was now hobbling back into her knickers, toppling over a little in the effort. It was as though she laughed after having caught him watching her with that obvious fondness in his gaze. It was as though she clambered back onto the bed, and whispered to him, "Look at us, Padfoot. If I didn't know any better, I'd think we were happy..."_

_What Sirius wanted more than anything at that moment was to see her chew her bottom lip once more. Or brush the hair out of her eyes. Or scratch her nose with the end of her quill. Something small and completely unremarkable. Something that would disprove this incomprehensible reality that, somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, Farren Graham's body lay motionless. That she was not smiling, or smirking, or laughing, or getting angry. That she never would again. That she was dead. _

_ He traced the words on the headboard once more._

"…Because above all else I loved…"

**Author's Note**: THE STORY IS NOT OVER! There is a verrry lengthy epilogue which will take me a while to write, but I promise will come out. Keep and eye out for it. Don't forget about the story! Also, the past tense at the end of the story was on purpose.


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